Image result for nesting bird in renaissance painting

I was not the top of a thick tree.

She built her nest low, but she nested in me.

I know how much I loved. I know it wasn’t me.

I was only the lyre.  Not the melody.

I was not the wind, which came whistling from afar.

I was only an eye, captured by a star.

Use science. Science doesn’t know

My love. But I know.

She wasn’t worth loving. But I know well

How she’s heaven

To my uncomprehending hell.

I was not prepared, nor was I right.

She was the glory. She was the light.

I know how much I loved.

But it didn’t do any good.

She was the bird who chattered in my wood.

She was the life my body waited for.

No. She was going. I was the door.

She was the fish who struggled in my lake.

Now she’s the breath in every poem I make.

She’s the name I cannot say.

The instrument must die. But the song will stay.



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