The Jesus Bird
The chill, a gliding wind of more than fear
Seeped into the room, simple as the first
Light of sun kissed the mornings horizon.
The Bird, with Jesus in her mind, small like a
Sparrow, ruffled its feathers as it perched
Outside.
She talked to it, through the glass, murmurings
Through lips. Words I could not hear,
Meanings I could not possess.
And the Bird, with Jesus in her mind,
Cocked its small head to one side and
Listened with the same memories I had
Failed to understand.
Hearts so helpless now, lost in a drowsy fervour
Of painstaking efforts to relive tired stories,
Of lives worn out, of dreams long since peppered
With scattered truths, that only now ask
For comfort, from a Bird, full of Jesus in her mind,
Looking at us with eyes of sharp intelligence,
that rarely blinked and never looked away.
And beyond that window, I saw the ritual smoke
Of a fire marking a final goodbye, a column of ash
Against the pale dawn light, curling upward
In the distance, behind the Bird, full of Jesus
In our minds.
The chill, a gliding wind of more than fear
Seeped into the room, simple as the first
Light of sun kissed the mornings horizon.
The Bird, with Jesus in her mind, small like a
Sparrow, ruffled its feathers as it perched
Outside.
She talked to it, through the glass, murmurings
Through lips. Words I could not hear,
Meanings I could not possess.
And the Bird, with Jesus in her mind,
Cocked its small head to one side and
Listened with the same memories I had
Failed to understand.
Hearts so helpless now, lost in a drowsy fervour
Of painstaking efforts to relive tired stories,
Of lives worn out, of dreams long since peppered
With scattered truths, that only now ask
For comfort, from a Bird, full of Jesus in her mind,
Looking at us with eyes of sharp intelligence,
that rarely blinked and never looked away.
And beyond that window, I saw the ritual smoke
Of a fire marking a final goodbye, a column of ash
Against the pale dawn light, curling upward
In the distance, behind the Bird, full of Jesus
In our minds.