Mysore rangoli
this one started a sort
of song
named bird song
yesterday one Dottie
who hunts but does not kill
brought a baby bird
inside
how our every heart beat shook our tiny body
how we wanted our small life
last night
a painted song named
till death was hung
and we ached in pain and love
today
wanting not to know—no not now
that we—the bitty bird and I (in part) had died
how we longed to stay in life
heart will sting and pound
our songs of pain and beauty
and we will fly how we will fly
while ever now even now
this one mourns and cries
for one song sung less
far less than
63 days
