Sanction

I thought the winds would cleanse me or the birdsong unlock the years.

Time has not been gentle but I find ways to ignore the overflow.

Long ago, I made a home inside the hope of something small.

I discussed this with the northern stars on Sundays.

But through the years the night burned cold

and the small thing that I banked on, finally died.

The last time I saw it, the waves were breaking over,

and carrying it fast downstream, it struggled and tried to swim.

I never saw it again but often in my lonely dreams, I hear the water rushing

and I see it's wild eyes gleaming in it's very last breath.

Haunted by the sounds of my own wasted footfalls,

scuffling across a giant blue planet; and more broken than a burning wing.