An icy January
And the birds have gone.
One used to sit on a branch
And sing my mornings in.
I miss him
Like I miss my smile,
Four years, their absence
And this January has gone on a while.
Shredded flocks
By a shredding breeze
Have moved him, the bird
To places where he’s better suited.
I still need him
I want him here,
His wings cut swathes from the high grey clouds
And pluck me from
The icy January
Down here, resting in a hole in the ground.
I want to fly with him, the bird
I want to be taken from here
Every fleeing bird is an encroaching fear
That this January with become February
And perhaps another year.
If not some escape,
Then I hope he lands outside my window
And sings my mornings in
For I miss him
Like I miss my smile,
Five years, his absence
Wondering where he’s been
And when
And if
He’ll ever come again.