Jul
17
you are a rare
bird
and I am a hunter
through red gardens
I have walked
and cold forests
searching for you
I suspected you were a story
that old hunters told their sons
yet still I laid awake at night
and dreamed you
I dreamt your bold color
and fragile frame
perched proudly on the
precipice of fate
I dreamt of the day
when I would see you
and draw carefully and
slow
daring not to let you go
and then one morning
bright and cold
you appeared
I watched you perch and flutter
and beheld your grace
turning for one still moment
you looked into my eyes
then flew quietly away
