Little Bird

Little Bird, you fly by my ears--song of honey;
your wings parting the sun's rays.

You built your nest in the corners of my soul,
the edges tattered and stained by sap.

But there is no fruit from our union.
Bitter dregs of tea and birdseed detest youth.

Silence cuts me and you bleed song,
Feathers tainted red with ink.

Night knows only dimming moonlight,
stars fading into the ridges of heaven.

Little bird, your flight to love fell short,
but the wind carried your love song

to the depth of my soul, yet I pretend
that deafness and stone silence it.

You fly away from me, songs of mourning;
your wings blotting out the sun's rays.