It was jubilance before hollow.
It was.
And the stars fell in place
In my thought-soaked veins —
They were rich.
They were.

I was grief and there was Hope
At the same exact time;
He was stinted rage
And new soft touch
In this small bird’s fragile home.
He was.

The sun is crouched
Beneath its finish line,
Although I do not regret it.
Hours slipped and it slid
Through the sweat on my palms
Before I had much chance
To feel it.

I will not find it again,
And it will build a new nest.
But I can hold the rust from its glimmer —
Crawl into anything that’s left
And cozy up until the morning.
I can.

Maybe I quite like it here.
Dimmed forest lights to
Sooth my head,
But the humming never left.

What if I’m much better here,
Where the growing is not painful
And my body can be quiet;
Where I might look to Him and smile
After all this time we spent.
I might.

Maybe I like quite it here.
Perhaps it was all perfect.
It was.