“I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee . . .” —III John 1:13
Among the treetops,
scraps of red dart through the green.
I call your name,
and memory mocks me, psittacine.
Chirps and whistles
fill my ears, and tangle thoughts
in webs of flight,
so sounds of names are vainly sought.
Part of Sehr Gut Web • © Sehrgut.