Rain paths brush clear a sky
to stark beautiful disclosure
I listen to her notes of doubt, softly
Singing through the azure
With doves ear, low, I listen on
for another who perchance is
a muse, perched atop a pendulous pen
Swaying lithely among the branches
Music written of moments when
She trusts my song, its combs of rain
sheared in harmony from soaring wing
from I, the melodious bird himself,
who’s ever to fly away again.
