The Bird
You flew away
in a hurry, leaving
behind memories planted
at the witching hour.
A night after you left,
I ensconced in the heaven
forged by bar noise
and returned with energy.
The room’s walls were busy,
a stack of shadows blurring
out on weak polarized light.
My lips were untidy in walks
round the corners of the house.
I peered down
the room
where you should be, I erred
steps down a lone door wishing
to find a pet bird.
It was blazing hot, more shadows
filmed and faded on a sleeping light.
I sat on the floor as noise
from broken mirror mashed
the rattle of a leaving
automobile.
A crescent moon beamed
and slipped on a loan spell
behind a patch of grey cloud;
I had never wanted this,
my chest grew with activity.
I gazed at the mumbling cloud,
a brief loss of the first light,
a latent loss of transient energy.
I tried to put parts in place but
couldn’t find the moon.
I peered back
to the lone door,
silence hummed like the sound
of color leaving
the leaves of plants in December.