There is an everlasting watchful eye
`Nor you or I cannot avoid.
Changing his form, to and fro
Amid the cracks in sentences. Conscience
Is this, the little sparrow on a wire, too
Light to experience shock. The stains of
Rain on sidewalks before you, that you can
See though cannot yet feel. That vein on your
Wrist that bulges while you write, that you
Cannot continue without rolling your sleeve
Over. The circular tinge on mahogany, a simple
Coaster could have prevented.
And when that sparrow loses sight, he is
The treetops high in forests, a wordless
Conversation, returning your upward gaze.
He masks himself in the brightest places. The
Gentlest fingertips, the teacups in your lovers
Smile.
And be weary of ignoring him. For birds do fly
And trees seldom die. And, you too I hope, know
How lovers lie.