the nightingale spreads his wings

the strength of his spread hems me in

the brush of him rushes me to my face

wordless Wednesdays have their appeal

when there’s nothing left to say

speak for me nightingale, breathe for me the fire of your life

flight for the melted bones,

echoes of you long after your strength is withdrawn

I think it’s time, play your piece, take your eternal time

these curtains will not close, what would I do without you. I am good

not quite close but quite close enough flutters flirt with my self

bless this bliss, this light too painful it renders me powerless, endlessly