Dead Birds

Standing on the broken cement of the back porch silently staring into the skies and talking to myself Fingers struggling to keep appearances windshield wipers across my cheek watercolors gone white Flippant, fanatical, furious patient, protective, passionate trying to love the beast Sending dreams to the clean ears of the open air returned quickly, clutched in your mouth, crushed presented for reward Dead birds delivered to my doorstep my nature wants to heal them, bury them yours waits and wags its tail