It is in the
smallest of deaths
where life
is renewed:
The tips of
your fingernails
manicured
away
still echo
the scratch of ecstasy
on your
lover’s flesh
shedding
sunkissed skin
uncombed
hair
and unhatched
eggs
blessed by
your moon blood
unbroken yet by
the seeds of
life.
It is in the
closest of deaths
where life
is renewed:
The feathers of your tiny bird
buried away
still echo
the flutter of wings
longing to lift
the weight
of caged potential
as you kneel
to mourn
another loss
and you
bless the earth
that
swallows your bird
to sow the seeds of life.
*In memory of my daughter's bird who passed away yesterday, to bless her grief in losing a friend and dealing with death for the first time in her life.
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