A Single Strand

A Single Strand


Through a cracked window,
a strand of hair is let to whirl away;
a ripped New Year’s banner drifting down
to a whirligig sea of lost calendar pages.
Come now bird, add it to your nest,
and weave it through the splintered branches
to give my living reason.

A spark of gold in the glacial exhalation
of an unflinching February,
the frayed-edged thread catches
the best intentions of the sun.
Come now, bird, and use the fire
to warm your springtime young
and give my living reason.

A loose jewel from the crown
rocks softly to the ground below,
coming to rest with all the other treasures;
invisible to those who walk above it,
it is pushed into the frozen grass by
heavy boots and blind indifference.

Swoop down, little bird,
with your sleek-edged wings
and perch-ready feet
and pluck out what you find;
a gilded chain with which to
bind the walls around you,
a single, featherweight strand
that drifts toward some meaning.


**Published April 1, 2009. Inscribed Magazine-A Magazine For Writers, Volume 4, Issue 4