We part like two songbirds
caught in different breezes,
You’ll drift south til you reach the sea
And I feel the northward wind take me
toward gray, silent light of evening.

Tucked and unsettled in the newest of nests
I see Silence point her finger
at the holes in the air
where your melody has faded
over the curve of so much land
that spreads out between us.

I try to sing by myself—
Our souls sing in the same language,
A song crafted by the Creator—
But tragedy, defined,
Is singing lonely goodbyes
into the heart of the wind at springtime.