deep cronk spruce-needle muffled
feathers a dark too deep to be black
seeing each other she changes course
resonantly calls and turns toward me
spine-running chill butterflies exploding
she slows connecting with me in study
three infinite seconds to remember

feathers grown long
downy infant transformed
dependent but independent

rotting nest disintegrates
slight breezes destroy
breaking home

unanswered food-prayers
turn terrifying sky unknown
into tempting frontier

brink-teetering feet
relaxing death grip
releasing into life

between stanza lines and
between line words and
between word letters and
between letter sounds
are found the
space and silence
that beget them all

seven months of winter and
the bone-chill of winter rain
in late may is an abomination
and it being saturday
makes it unforgivable

to whom can i complain

the deepest truth lies
between the lines
of every sentance

the deepest beauty lies
between the colors
of every painting

the deepest reason lies
between the being
of something and nothing