LUCES

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Bluebird softly tittering.
Maybe Bluebird’s what I’ll call you.
Soaring through these gray, spring skies,
then landing soft and jittering.
Frolic through the heather’s dew,
then enter in my life.

Twinkling, soprano songs.
Idle, lively chatter.
Little Bluebird talks the day away,
and it really feels not long
before the gentle, quiet pitter-patter
of your feet starts up and fades.

What a pretty time.
What a pleasant moment.
What a jubilant memory.
When the days were fine
and the hate unspoken
because you had no hate for me.

But human I am,
not bird so blue,
who flutters in perfection.
In mistakes I stand;
my blemished truth
hurt that new connection.

Through thorny words
and muddy woods,
your delicate body traipsed.
Through violent worlds
you never could
ever dreamed of having escaped,

I forced you in—
over passing time.
As I started tittering, too…
Revealing whims,
seeing my mind…
Just added to your blue.

You brighten worlds.
I only darken,
drawing shades of onyx.
Dahlias twirl,
and Bluebird hearkens.
But they’ll wilt with me, I know it.