the sparrows
tap tap tapping at
the glass door
demanding another
poem about her
the lady with
wildflowers in
her perfect smile
as i sip coffee
contempmating
how to wrangle
an unruly sea of
slippery words

the sound of
little beaks
tap tap tapping at
the glass door
heads cocked
waiting to hear
of a fool so
completely lost
in her wonder
as the sun sulks
high above the
darkening clouds
threatening to
wash away any
signs of joy
in petulant showers

everything else
feels wobbly
as the stars strain
to send a last
twinkling burst
knowing by the time
their light shines
on the forever in
her bottomless gaze
nothing but cinders
will remain floating
listlessly lost
in the vacuum that
is left as each one
becomes absorbed by
hwr effortless beauty