Cry. The well has had its fill.
What news brings the pigeon?
The world torn today forgets tomorrow a worry called yesterday.
No worry. The theatre knows drama well.
The beating drum, the heavy air. One flap is all it took. Fly now.

An accident.
A small bruise on the clock. A scrape of sorrow and a tear of regret.
An accident.
Why did you do it? Why didn’t you stop? Don’t you know any better?
A remnant. Fractured.
Guess not.

How do you describe it. What words in their sum could encompass what I mean. Who could paint for me the image of a thousand falling stars breaking through in glorious ash or the slow drip of a light fog breaking over the mountains just before sunrise? What word could shake me out of reality and draw me in to myself. A hastening, dangerous tug. The unknown. Distance closing. No it could not be caged. The aves their wings outstretch! The coin rot to dust and nature demand its currency! Time tick. Time tock. Love here or love there. Time tick. Time tock. You’re beautiful.