I Write Poetry

Feather in Blood

I swanned amok in mystery's wanderlust,
My hopes perched on spotting you again,
Your earnest heartbeat, deep red, amorous,
And honeyed voice—I last heard it when?
A cozy, nocturnal presence steeped in trust,
Connected by wisps of what may have been
Since the night red and black faded to rust.

Moon turned from crescent to half to full
While I perused the land and sea and sky,
A starling within robin's magnetic pull,
Without an inkling how near or far to fly.
Seasons shifted from sunny to sorrowful,
Bright greens to brown, muted, and shy,
Gray heavens raging, harsh as steel wool.

As my fleeting hopes continued to dive,
From leaden skies you came, breaking my fall.
Wing-in-wing, at last reconnected, so alive,
Spirits embracing each other' s avian call.
Among deepest shadows, where we thrive,
May we resume our tandem flight after all?
You hightailed at dawn; my heart left to rive.

No rhyme or reason, not even a song.
An echo of silence whispered in my ear,
From a bygone robin who pined to belong,
Whose vocal elixir vanquished the fear,
Enshrouded me in a soft, soothing sarong.
Now, having cast me, bewildered and bare,
I clutch a feather in blood—for how long?