The slow wait to death
by 4AM traffic sounds.
Watching it defeat her
here from the bed;
Hearing life still bristle
inside her and then out,
like a perfect brown sparrow
escaping the winter’s thicket.
Worm in mouth,
she swallows and sings out.
There is an old garbage truck
beeping in the alleyway.
There is a neighbor
making love and making
no secret of it.
There is all of this and more.
Then, there is me. And
meanwhile, the slow wait to
dawn takes her
and she is dying
to wake back up
inside and out.
Some mornings, I do miss her
on the branches outside
my ant farm window;
Where my perfect brown sparrow
sings herself forever in the future;
Where I will not find her
because she is gone, gone, gone.
The garbage truck pulls away.
The neighbor rolls off.
I’m so very tired
and the slow wait
takes me to her
just long enough;
Just barely. Then,
there is my alarm.
There is all of this
and more
before the slow wait is over
and we fly off toward forever.
Gone, gone, gone.

written on 07/21/2011 by: Matt Kane