From straight ahead and only slightly
to the left, he comes barreling toward the glass.
I slow too late, and the devil dressed in blue
becomes a blur with piercing yellow eyes who
falls to pieces in feathers floating high that,
of course, remind me of what it is to still
love you.

The suicidal birds make their way to me –
law of attraction I suppose you would say.

But I want to live and have just come
from fighting my war with a world that would keep
me caged and gouge my sight with admonitions
to not make a peep, to stay to pre-ordained
flight patterns, to let them clip my wings and, most
of all, to forget I ever flew anywhere
with you.

The birds; they all are flying north by northwest.
I do my best to catch the wind, to follow.

Tonight, I act on impulse as I
see my own shadow in the glassy mirror
and lunge forward, seeing shattered glass and you
when neither are really there. I do not know
which way is home again. My feathers plucked,
my spirit with the south and you, I’ve no strength
to fly.

Strange bird that I am, squawking in spring, flapping
my wings wildly, I believe love will find me.

Will you find your way, too?