You’re always fluttering around.
I watch you, scared you might fall.
I want to lead you to the right song, to the right flowerbed.
Instead I spin in the air. My form lost among the pines.
The light I had to lead us home, long since gone.
Should we follow the glow of the moon?
Sing to the wind? Give it a few days to answer.
Perhaps I should leave my heart in a wicker basket.
Cover myself in morning dew.
Abandon the very thought of you.