Anonymous Lost Birds

Anonymous Lost Birds


When did everything and I grow so cold?
Is it just seasonal
A part of growing up and old
Not broad but personal?

Poems like scattered sticks
Lie all around
Littering this place
Meaningless
Never to be found.

Too late to build a fire
Unless for a funeral.
When did I lose desire
For anything corporeal?

At once abandoned and abandoner
Bereft of all by choice
One finds a strange familiar
In one's own voice.

Feb 2014