It was 5 a.m.
Owls hooted,
Holding Parliament,
Honey hooting the night Goodbye.

You talk of pain.
I have none.
She hoots, holding my tongue gently,
Lest I tred too loudly on your hurting.

I heed her
Bend to a greater *** of gold
Than we both can muster.
Hurt passes.

The trees take in the owls.
Breaths out crows.
The sky like blue cotton
Lays its fabric on the day.