Free verse: Fallen Sparrows

213 10 18

Do sparrows pick our trail of memories

as breadcrumbs lost upon the soil;

or mud, if tears have rained

upon those inadvertent footprints

we leave, hoping that loved ones remember,

for we can’t?

I do recall that picture postcard of you;

mementos stored within minds cellar,

matured with age, but withered by wine

makes confusion overflow

within those cellophane folders;

useless stationary accessories...

Electronic memories of heirs

collect pictures of the sparrows

eating the breadcrumbs I’d left behind.

I do recall that fallen sparrow...

frozen in the keepers capsule;

waiting for a warm Spring day.