Our Grey Tongues Tired

I’d fall into this like leaves
Sleeping long against the slick glass of windows
Down to the ledges, their happy cemeteries,
But do it with more smiles
And fewer arthritic wrinkles.

No one really flies anymore
We birds scream into the wind all night
And begin again at dawn,
Our beaks cracking at their edges,
Our grey tongues tired of too many seeds.

The snow drops a shell of silence
Over that one last perfect swansong
We spend our whole lives not singing,
Blocks that one last jab at infinity
From our dying lungs.

Bees who have lost all their yellow sit quiet
Whistling cold down my phoenix fingers;
Slowly we dive into the wings
We never thought we’d want,
And they fit.

2/06/09