I put it all in words,
but these were like the seeds
lost in the snow at our feet.
I watched the birds hunt for them,
each one a red plumaged pulse
breaking raggedly
frail, desperate, determined
against the cold.
what is it they say? even the birds
are clothed and warmed by some miracle.
you sat beside me
and in our nearest thoughts,
our close silence -each of us counting
-each of us wondering
-each of us imagining,
their wild and windswept homes,
their frail shelters in the night - each only big enough for one
and the soundless, stealing cold.
you took my hand and I blushed,
imagining the feel of their down, their hidden softness.
I never found my words, never spoke them
though I had written them on placards, on buildings, on my heart
-frail
- hopeful
-sustenance
mere words.
like the birds without shelter, without worry,
I didn’t need them.
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