I pondered, in reverie, about the endless blue sky
and why the finches never returned for their morning bathe in the sun.
I suspect that is they have found grounds to feed down south but never understood why they left.

It was when the finches arrive back at the fields, that she came to me
asking for meat and bread for her belly.
My senses, finely tuned, remember how lovely she was.
I could taste her in my dreams, smell her in my sheets, and hear her whispers, putting me to bed to dream

Alas, she has left for business and is never to be returning. I send her absolutes through winds that pass through the valley. But she cannot hear the thing that would matter most.

These words that I speak of cannot be just spoken, but has to be noticed
by her and only her eyes for it is the acts of affection that turns the volume up in her mind. It is the acts of the pale moon to see blindly in the darkness.

I'm a ******* coward but so is she. We cannot see the light in a dark corner of the fools mind for he is a fool like I.  I will search for her in every woman I will ever meet and, perhaps, will see a lonesome road and forever think of her, searching for the finches of last fall.

I will spoil the dogs while I wait for her to finish searching for her birds. They will be decent, but I fear for her and her reverie of the birds returning. They are free birds like she and I fear solitude in heavy doses.

Oh, the return.