The music spoke its secret ways
that day
the note
in the glass bottle was found
and magnified you-
Up high,
a troupe of black birds stream
through the pink zephyr in blushes
-it becomes clear
they know the song by
wingbeat
the chorus
in choreography-
Silvers of this
lay strewn
all about you-
once seen, became
blinded faith
setting eyes
on bald faces
the cloud mist-
Soul survival,
the score was more
than we can consume
in a low life
mock swallows
in moments made
intoned by bliss.
Painting by Pedro Américo (1884) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
