A calendar prompt to think of love today and so I sit and try, but soon I find love's little birds are mired in fog and grey; can barely fly, so sluggish in my mind. The elemental love that shaped my heart I believed to be a songbird singing pure; but it was a deft manipulator's art, so everything's in flux that once was sure. The bedrocks of my life have turned to sand laying bare the hidden histories beneath; The little bird that perched on my young hand is only bones and feathers, loss and grief. Love's blindness sadly kept the truth unknown, that little bird died long before I'd grown.
