a ruined bed, two lovers lay,
outside, the first slow breath of day,
a song is sung - a bird, up high,
born years ago, somehow survived
the rip and tear of tooth and claw,
hatched from a nest that did not fall,
a slender limb that did not break
on sleeping earth that did not quake
grown old and tall and straight and wide,
a withered seed that never died,
blown from afar on autumn breeze,
stirred from the ground with careless ease,
a little boy raking the ground
looked to the sky, and heard the sound
of birds
Everything is connected.
