The talking bird leads me

The talking bird leads me down the garden path. It is gone. The sky down here is another sky made of dark ice. There is no way back. There is no day and no night. I can make out my grandfather’s watery shed in the darkness that is as tangible as frost. Here are his tears frozen on the trees. Here are his sighs hiding in the mouths of a lost world of unborn flowers. Here is the dribble of his broken heart. My shadow shivers in the frosty darkness.
I wait like I’ve waited before for the talking bird, a dream in the icy air causes me to heat up. Like a happy song on a cloud of sorrow, I’ll fall down and be dissolved into the cracks in the hard ploughed earth covered by snow.
Eternity’s dark watery globe revolves here in the space that has never known light. I long to lay my head in someone’s lap and cry myself to sleep. Come back to me, taking bird, talk and help me to forget how trapped I am at the bottom of this strange garden.

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