that's mrs. mediocrity to you

scraping ice from a windshield
in the dark cusp of dawn

red-winged blackbirds
flash neon signs
in hopes of feed and sun

three days ago
i watched a hawk
murder a grackle

(never forget to keep an eye
on the sky)

i whisper
and begin walking south
as the silence of north
calls me home

each step a false migration
blurring line
between time and design

a march of soldier
armed with rhyme

and stubborn pockets

leaking trails of sanity’s
seed

i listened for so long i went silent

mute as a river drinking dawn in the forest
mute as a sky bright with stories of stars
mute as a heart bleeding love like a wound

there are no words for any of this
no lexicon
for racing blindly through the darkness of reality
hawking bliss and deprivation in quiet turn

i am echo
singing jagged edge
across each mountain

you are breath
and something
less tangible

or everything

it’s all there
ramshackle and ready
prepared

but we’ve forgotten
history
her story
our collective
mind

i walk this path
i have traveled
too often

watch two bluebirds
savor sunshine
just the way March requires

i remember you there
on my windowsill
all magic and tragedy

survival
so often depends
on kindness

i say nothing

. . . . .

. . . . .