Saturday, March 15, 2014

The Nightingale

A nightingale
alighted in my hand,
slipped through my ribs
and built a nest there.
I fed it honey and laughter;
he sang me to sleep and filled my dreams
with treetops and twilight skies.

Last night he brushed my cheek with a wingtip
when he took flight.
I held my hand there
as I bid him goodbye.


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