The birds don’t sing for me

w.n.

One of the things to fathom

Is that the birds

Don’t sing for me.

They sing for each other

And I just happen to be walking through

The string connecting their tin cans.

I keep walking in dark and in day

Strings wrapping around my neck

I’ve already passed

So I'm doing my own mummification. 

The only thing to see now

Through the strings of songs

Is the hickory of the dark

And the amber of the day.

If I dream anything in between

I might stop walking.

Placid song

You are tranquil in timbre

And silked in sorrow.

I must keep walking

So I can find the birds

Who choose

To sing for me.