Feathered and falling

A phrase including “dilemma.”
A bitter longing better reserved
for caves and evening birdsong.

An astounding lack
of choice between
facing a stark naked winter
or spilling a verdant belly.
He gave us both
(but for how long?).

When the rhyme fell from her lips,
it was like the sky cracked
just a little. Summer storms
were eons away but the reminders
lingered in every stolen kiss,
unable to be tucked in our pockets.

Emptied a bowl of refuse
pretending it was regret,
because we excel at pretending.

A bitter longing after birdsong.
Wondering whether to cry or sing
or fall or fly. Or if there’s a difference.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Website Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: