Regret is not the right word
But “nostalgia” is too soft
It is in the distance
Your eyes forbade to meet
The downcast spirit
Hiding in my skin
It only comes out at night,
the second after the second
after the second-
I am alone.
And among the trees I descend into hollowness,
where I may
resemble
and deserve the back until next time
The next night
A new attack,
I crouch low neath the bluebirds
to find courage
under their
flapping wings
pulsing toward me
And I bite!
I fly!
The magnitude of the sun
Refills my hollow whole
Until your lifeless gaze
Demands I give the pieces back
So homeward I choke every memory
Every spot, every syllable-
Watch the soldiers of my mind bleed out and away
Because really I needed yet another
One more reminder
That I have become a shell
A skeleton, piecemeal, or penultimate
Voices of bluebirds
Humming your song to the ghosts in the grave
They sing not of regret-
Not of memory-
They sing to grieve lost magic and blanked eyes
