Like a birdsong

Like a birdsong
you’re with the wind
on my brow
in this early morning light.

With the rustle of leaves
outside my memory’s door
I tiptoe like a child
to keep you one moment more

or I will sulk
in the roofless corner
of my fears
forever wishing I was a forest.

Copyright ©2007 Francia Canicula Clavecillas