harons

on the topics of nostalgia and perfection

my birds, in memory

in colours they reach from splattered earth

in wind they move in ladder dances

in ways in which improper ones may envy art within

like me, in jeopardy

i paint with colours opposed in worth

i dance and yet i lack romances

i see i'm not identical to things my heart relives

what is it there between myself and things i long to be

which often fall upon my eyes and yet i cannot see?

i search for it in words and music fiercely made for thee,

oh daylight star in perfect view, so separate from me

all memory of birds will fade in times to come i know (as i've been told)

but i don't want their empty physicalities for show

nor feathers plucked in dreams for use in making your trousseau

i want their marriage to your world whose threads i'll never sew