You are only feet away,
child of fog.
Bow and Cello,
Chest and hum.
Your truest form,
in this white-curtain air....
only to blink from
existance.
Watching -
motionless -
I am the cup just out of reach,
dust holding shut my pores -
a photo fallen and yellowed,
home behind the countertops.
Guide me,
this hope,
that the lights I see are the backs of your eyes.
The mist beads upon my lips,
and trembles as I whisper your name..
"Sparrow"
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