Sparrow's Song

We squander our breath on useless details

burning seconds and hours and days

away from the language of love and beauty.

Touch my heart so gently.

Breathe for me.

Ghosts speak to me.

There’s no need for all this

Friction.

Once a sparrow sang to me

A melody.

A mystery.

Breathe for me, sparrow.

Breathe for me.

Ghosts speak to me.

Cry so gently for all this

Friction.

We rise from the ashes on the backs

Of our ghosts.

Their tones are black and white.

They sang their songs of right,

Harmonious in their time-

avoiding  all

Friction.

Cry, sparrow, cry.

I choose friction.

My Whole Universe

No one asked me if you could leave

or if I ever needed you.

Control is an illusion.

I learn this; I am young.

Your absence is an animal

of subtraction and frenzy

locked in a cage while

people point and stare.

Will she fall in the bottle?

He does not raise her,

Not enough room in a brown bottle

for more than one.

But I rise like the sun

even if blurred by clouds

of self-doubt and despair,

and sometimes I am the moon

reflecting my own bright light.

My family,

they are my earth, my world

and collectively, my sun.

Our gravities push and pull.

We are globes of light and warmth

sustaining life against all odds.