When the Birds Fall Silent

Like a Disney movie, sparrows fly in my head. An hour after coffee I grasp reality as if it were survivable. A deep snow drifts into camel humps a few reckless birds have escaped my skull to awkwardly bounce in the heavy and glassy air. The hours ride two-toed ungulates into a dredging darkness. My mind now is cluttered with dying bluebirds. The sparrows have become ice features in a frozen museum. This is the way the day ends, not with chirping, but with tattered feathers strewn upon a blank Landscape.