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It is a shame to see--a heart trapped in place by divinity
A shame to continue, to honor the life, to burn the wick, revive the light
A belief is surely, now, conviction, and bred to consume, a fabric within
its brightened plume

Upon my windowsill, this window by the door--a bright sparrow sat, his eyes trained onthe floor 

Beside him, then, the curtains billowed from their perch, joining his eyes by the sill, peering over 

I catch the lark within the day
It curves my neck toward the sky
I slip my fingers 'round its neck, 
a looming figure, these of angered while
I shall be reciting these without respite, a turning of will

The corners of the sky were white—the center of them blue 
I curled my fingers ‘round the edges and bled frost inside them, too 

I watched the sun disappear behind great walls of fog— 

I am, as they say, a romantic. I visualize such things in my head constantly, flowers and slow dances and nights spent beneath the glow of one hundred million stars.