I opened your book and what did I read?
Whispers of heavenly death murmur’d I hear
Only an hour before I drowned a mortally wounded fledgling,
too young to die not having lived to fly.
Only after the god-play, huddled in silence
do I laugh and hear laughter
and pluck words like feathers from sleeping hours.
I was there to drink all these tears
of unfathomable living and dying.