(Feeding raspberries to a suffering magpie)
Don't pick all the berries!
When they ripen on the thorny branches.
Leave some for the birds, and the passing children,
As they sing and dance, and shuffle through the chalk lines,
Tiny fingers, ruby stained and slip on shoes,
To not have not a fear of blood or anything to do,
Or get lost in irregular patterns of faith.
Let their songs help you feel like,
You belong to something
Equal to nature moving in a 6 o'clock sun beam.
We are ailing and sometimes we are sailing, on water or the breaking waves,
and an empty chest and eyes that fill with tears can
Borrowed time can not be returned.
The music can only last long enough,
before we play it again in our memory
parted by love or friendships,
For those audible to your hearts.
Bursting and breaking,
Parted and sliced into
With adagios of declarative longing .
A Listless listening of the broken,
Striving towards some sort of half healing,
Rising and falling and belonging and
Like the magpie with the broken wing,
Navigating the manicured cut lawns
Looking for a place to recover
In the shadows false alarm.
Francis A Willey
August 1 2019