Whenever, February comes around
and if I am still here breathing ,
I must shed a tear
Whenever the coldest month
of the year gets to me
I flashback to 1959 and
the bullock’s heart tree:

My vivid memories might seem a bit strange,
But according to sources, it’s where my Nana
buried my navel string: under the old bullock’s heart tree

The bullock’s heart trees shall forever lived on
So are my memories of that secret place
the sparrows and the blackbirds shall
  forever feast upon the ripened fruits it produces

The broad leaves shall shelter the wild doves,
from the tropical sun and rain,
However, how strange my memories might seems
whenever, February arrives and I am still
breathing, I must shed a tear.
because, I am forever blessed ..Happy birthday to me.

gently
            coax
the vision
from
          the ether
nurture
              the swelling
of the shame
with a warm
compress
                  of words
it will

            drain

when not
contained.

play me an air
   a bluebird lament
something meant for the breathing
  to remember

  all i want to hear
is a soft melody
  sad as the winter
still on the wind

     let your bow waltz
on the strings of my heart
     let the sound
  of your fiddle
set sail

play me an air
   like the bluebird did
     while i dance
  with the snow
in my hair.

Become symbolic allow Christ to use your.
As a symbol revealing himself through you.
Drawing others to him through you.
It takes a very special individual to allow him to use them.
To truly allow him to use them in this way.
For them to sacrifice much in allowing this,
So trust in his ways being so much better.
To give up so much to allow him our God,
To use you, to reveal himself to others.