My Grave Or My Stars?

A bird flew to my Window. She was light and exquisite on her sill side perch. She sang of her nest in a tree. I went to the tree whose bark was scarred and thick on old plant flesh. the Green Tree told me "these are my roots, that sit in this soil" So i dug a grave. Deep and dark and narrow through earth. And my grave told me "this is your soul, with its wreath of stars" The starlight shone, sober, with weightless import. The stars showed me a Mirror. In darkness we sit, we sit as one. One breath, with naught to be told.