birds made of wire gawk their slow turning heads,
fix their hallow eyes downward, hover over your deathbed.
while you close your eyes and wait for night to pass,
i fetal on the floor of this house of glass.
know, i see the fields outside this square trap.
i know i can pick one of the blooming flowers if i bridge this gap.
but i can't escape the need to hold your hand as you sleep,
can't let go of the hope of promises you vowed to keep.
but the gaping birds don't squawk lies,
and i know that if i stay here by your bedside,
this house will shatter, my heart will splinter
and we will eventually die.
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