as rain hurries
past, birds keeping
with one another. She
marvels at how they call
over & over without care
they may be a bother. They
are not confined to lies inside
their mind: you loser, idiot, you
can’t fly. You made a mistake,
you should have remembered
not to turn to the side; now
you’ve fallen out of the sky &
tears beg streaming apology.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean
to. Give up already, would you?
You’re weak, needy, & Jesus overcame the world, but look
how much he cares about the small
stuff now. He turned water to wine, yet leaves you wondering: how can
he love me when one wrong move
leaves me aching his arms about me?
Birds don’t long with water hitting their eyeglasses. No, they sing, letting this man of many sorrow chart their ways.