There she is

Songbird

High in the uppermost branches

Perched on fragile

Limbs of trees I cannot climb

She flies high

Out of reach

Keeping me there, below

Mesmerized by song and masquerades

And she sings her song familiar

And loud and distant and strong

Bringing comfort born generations old

Oak-old time turned trust, turned familiarity

She is a magician

Bedazzling eyes

With iris’ that are not the hollow shades of grandmother

They are the greens and blues and purples of his emerald well waters

She knows my favourite hues

And she paints them for me

A gift

Gilded works of bronze

With only specks of green and blue, where the sky once lived

I am disorientated

Lullabied by ancient Nordic songs

That tell stories of heroes who hold hands with teeth dripping poisons

And I let them walk by my side as toddlers

Fragile yet wired for survival

I hold it close; lead it to the safe underbelly of me

And then there are fields of mutated

Crushing stampedes sent to obliterate

With tiny hands the sanity of my daytime dream of you and me

And each time she returns to me

She comes with the same melody

The same riff over and over

Rolling and lolling wet and slippery of tongue and teeth and over and over

But I am saved

Your arms are wrapped gentle and warm around her

There is a battle without blood

But still she whispers, sings her lullabies

Luring me to loneliness

Her voice so familiar

She is comfort with wings in my tree

And then there is you

Lucid and real

Full of smell and ripples of touch and smiles

Your acrid morningness

Your stories of truths

(and still she sings)

I am a child. Confused

Control versus uncertainty

Lonely versus love

I am unconnected

Tortured by the hope of a journey shared

Tortured by a lifetime of fantasy (fantastique)