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If I were your bird
If I were your bird,
when my grazed, golden wings
fly no longer.
I would pluck no feather,
and these arms; broken branches
would hold you once more.
If I were your bird,
and your golden wheat washes my sight.
I would keep these feet on dirt,
and my eyes would lose their light.
Blind, and broken,
i accept your touch.
If I were your bird,
today and tomorrow,
yesterday and never,
(for neither sees the light of the other)
time would keep us here.
Remaining.
