The Windmiller's Guest
Now, they sit still, both perched above the world.
The fleeting chance for rest, the setting sun,
Had vitalized the pair with calls of old.
They cooed into the dusk; full lungs had sung
Their memories with chirps of reflection.
The soft singing grew into bold echoes,
Reverberated deep within their chests.
Their hearts' chambers, with valves all choked and closed,
Were opened by the singing in their breasts;
The blood of old flowed in pulsating crests.
Their white plumage, ruffled by summer winds,
Revealed patches of skin, untouched and pale.
Of separate migrations, they conversed in
A foreign sound, piercing as sharpened shale
On arrow shafts; into their souls they sailed.
Barbaric Cupid grappled with the beats
In lovers’ chests, two hearts were set alight
‘Til winds of circumstance swept up the heat;
Lovers of past, fated to lonely flights.
Only their own feathers for warmth at night.
Reunion songs ritard, decrescendo.
Now, golden silence rolls down slanted roofs,
Dark sunset shadows creep upon them slow,
And steal familiarity, no proof
Of past acquaintance, suddenly aloof.
Over the curving fields, in cloudless sky,
The fleeting chance for rest, the setting sun,
Are set to rest; to the horizon flies
A single silhouette. The roof holds one,
Alone with echoed songs that they had sung.
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