The lapwing’s call
Falls a bright broken bell
In the shell of my ear:
A Fossil of heartache
In a thin gather of rain.
Folding pain in its spooled-out
Skein of song. Lilting long
After the close of the cropped throat:
The whining note.
One thought on “Bright broken things”
Haunting. The way you use sounds to accompany pain is gorgeous.