Black-bird

- jan-u-wine
could
my heart
be
more lonely,
more still,
more cold,
than it is tonight?
 
 
the smallness
of a pale moon,
pinned,
caught immobile
in tree's searching
fingers,
calls to me.
 
there are no stars,
no soft fire
glittering
like jewels
caged in sable night.
 
song.....
 
feathered
song....
sad,
hesitant,
broken-winged,
close-eyed
song.
 
dark as the night itself,
the singer....
 
hushed with ancient longing
the song ......
 
I rest my head upon
curved casement....
 
where is this hesitant one....
 
where
 
the ragged soul
who sings so fearfully, lost?
 
the turn of a dark-drowned,
velvet head,
the quick, hard flash
of bright eyes,
the soft-sharp stir
of folded wings....
 
a black-bird.
 
He is singing,
calling,
sleepy-voiced,
mournful,
in the same tree
which cages
the lemon moon.
 
He is beautiful,
with his coat
of night,
his eye of darting
dark coal,
his wings
that may touch
the happy face of the sky.
 
He is beautiful,
with his
little voice
that pulls
the sadness
from me,
 
his voice
 
that wraps
me,
cloaks me
in slow song.
 
he is looking at me.
 
as if he knew me,
he turns his head.
 
as if.....
 
he knows
my sadness,
my pain,
my fears,
 
he sings....
 
gently,
fluted voice
lifting,
strange
with round-toned pipings.
 
black wings
unfold against
the page of night.
 
he has flown.
 
I turn away from the window.
 
his song is mine.
 
it is a song of moonlight
and
the shadows trapped in dark-dreaming
eyes.
 
 
my life
gathers
itself
with painful joy
to the quiet
beauty
of this one
moment.
 
wings
of
quicken'd
night
brush
the edges of my dreams.
 

With thanks to JPM for his lovely words, which brought these forth.