Bonnie and Clyde

  In a parched, tasteless plain

  Of doves and sparrows

  Who hunt each other every day

  Sharpening their beaks

  And their talons

  Fertilizing the autumnal soil

  Perpetuating a primal toil

  Until the ground is too moist and maroon

  Underneath a blinding white moon

  I

  A crow

  Persecuted

  Pestered

  Predestined

  To be a vulture

  You

  A mockingbird

  Lost

  In a bloody field of barley

  Stolen novel; please report.

  They scoff at us in their lofts of

  Tight knit twine

  Thyme

  And Bramble bush

  At the grease and sweat that mattes my wings

  And the itchy timbre in the songs you sing

  Sweet-tempered songbird

  I know you’re not a vixen

  For your voice inspires

  Too much conviction

  For me

  To be

  The steady spirit of a brittle body

  That mends the shattered soul

  Of a true beauty

  Why?

  Because although you are a mockingbird

  You do not bother with mimicry

  Your voice can only be

  To me

  A melody

  A sweet

  Succinct

  Symphony

  Our hearts will form

  A harmony

  Like that line in a poem

  That only rhymes

  At just the right time

  My midnight wings cloak you

  In our wallflower nest

  Of sage and thornberry

  As the halation of snow falls above

  So does the rising threat of a cold death below

  As we fly to higher vines

  The dire stakes of a blizzard strikes

  Suddenly

  Nests

  Crops

  And Birds

  Are broken

  Their wings frozen

  Unable to fly

  From the false life

  They have chosen