He's so tiny and he tilts his
head to look at me curiously.
This bird that came and landed
outside of my window.
"Why do you cry," he asks, but
I have no response.
"The sky, the river, it hasn't
changed. Only the way in which
you see it."
And then he flies away, flies to
wherever he wishes - wherever
he can.
The wind comes and dries the
tears on my cheek - the wind
that carried him away.
With a deep, drawn out
inhalation, I feel my heart
still, my muscles release.
I let go and fly away.
As if I was one of them, as
if I remembered who I've
always been.
