Untitled (for now)

[Terry A]

Knowing ends
     One Dead Bird
earth crooning
for its own
     Did grasping
ever know such
natural perfection? Even heat
plays a part in awakening
inconsolably rites of passage 
rather less spoken of where all things
return to the great primal
and beginning is all
     the possibilities again.
Seeds gather their life force
more expanding
     than before the crash
of love directed like a drunk
at a blindman’s ball
over now in the debris
of unrequited 
      lays scars
But bright eyes sparkle
as if growing past
long senseless fields
and gardens unthaw
quickening in the sky domed
     with flying birds.

[Tinker]

Goodbye winter, Welcome spring.  Bittersweet.  This left me with a melancholy feeling.  For some reason, the dead bird stayed with me, even though the clatter of a flock above, alive and vibrant, ended this piece.  

~~ Judi

[Terry A]

I do not think (generally) youth has any real understanding of the word 'bittersweet' and how loss especially and most often, contains it in memory. But spring is like that, as the snow melts, my cats reveal their hunting skills; and Mother Nature takes it all in her stride of acceptance and recycling.  Thanks for commenting!