Mockingbirds mirror our folly,
Feathers falling by the volley.
I know not of my own wings and claws,
Fidgeting inside a compassionate calico's calloused jaws.
Flocks disperse into glittering stars,
Singing songs of magpie memoirs.
Not even the background of blackbird feathers fleeting may know where to go,
For too hard is the home of ferns and fragile holly and too hot lay the snow,
Bluebirds are bleeding in the pools of my eyes,
Golden in their silver lies.
Golden are the flocks fearful around me.
Golden is the blood that dances on the edge of the sea.
Color is the knowledge that I know nothing yet as I trek,
Hoping none would bother with such a silly wreck!
Disappear and dispense my dying heart,
Encased in down and ice bleeding blissfully from the start!
Feel the frost against my lips,
Summer's last friction in the form of a kiss.
I am mockingbird of my own mirror,
Staring at the similarities in your strange unfamiliar face as I try to see the person standing here.
-end-