I had probed the dark sky
for words for you
and there were none–
starlings flown to valleys verdent
and yet unexplored.
Such is the coin of eloquence
that it cannot unriddle
the contours of your face,
or your body sleeping,
sloping like lazy summer hills–
or to play the pitch and timber
of your breath
adrift upon your undulant dreams.
My love, the sun does rise–
my music subdued.
Fun Fact: All the European Starlings in North America descended from 100 birds set loose in New York’s Central Park in the early 1890s intentionally released by a group of people who wanted America to have all the birds that Shakespeare ever mentioned.
… yet another gem you had gifted me.