Often, I yearn for the visitor of my destiny to come, I am often astray in myself at how he will ask, “doesn’t the scent of the night’s cool air after rain feel entrancing with jazz music?,  I walk upon the grass as the moth heralds it’s sudden appearance before vanishing, I envision him in my mind’s eye arriving gentler than velvet wings before myself in the meadow of white flowers carrying the stars lustre, they behold their floral gaze upon us, the two mortals who cradle each other in their arms as he softly speaks to my ear, “oh songbird, hold the music box of my soul dear, it plays the notes of my heart for you” to which I would remain calm, for I could not find my voice to return his treasure of symphonies, I would linger in this phantasm, though for now I am savoring the sun’s first light over the verdant heights.

sing me a song
butterflies and angels
dry leaves on the ground.

If indeed
my heart knows
every word
to this song,

why then
does my voice
argue that it
should never
be sung?

You'll find sparrows, my mother said
Not in the thick,
nor the deep dark
canopies of the woods

You will find them, in droves,
at the ends of tree lines,
busy, busy—always busy
whether in song or with a twig

You will find them in coves
perched upon the green vines,
busy, busy—always busy
calling out upon a sprig

They are small when alone
like me,
in the long, silent hours of my nights
But in the morning they are a chorus
reminding you of all the work yet begun

So, go, find yourself a tree
You'll find sparrows when you're done

The world sings love, from lover to lover,
And what if I, don’t love enough as they?
Reed warblers trill to love as they hover,
Love on their mind, they sing their heart away.

When the time comes, they exist for one thing,
Like the love that makes the hooded grebe dance,
And grasshoppers with no heart still can sing,
While I, lowly I, have not their romance.

The beasts in their beauty know more than I,
In their love season, their love is complete.
They show love as if they don’t they will die,
But I love from the depths of self-conceit.

When a lovebird calls, he holds nothing back,
How I wish I could love as much as he!
Nature gave instinct for love that I lack,
The song of the songbird is not in me.

Are my eyes not sewn
To the vestagise's of
                                You.

Your words like songbirds
In mornings glory,
                     singing the awakening

                                           of ourselves..

We fly higher in dawns rising,
         and slumber in a nest of
                                            two,
                            when dusk falls beneath
                                                    our hearts.

Two feathers always gliding
            on the rhyme of loves wind.
And we soar for eternity
          as we are the breath beneath
                       each others yearnings.