Y.S.T.

I let you go
with all too much ease
like a little bird flitting from tree to tree

Do you remember the day when your fingers met mine?
And that I didn't want to feel the rough, imperfect grooves of their tips?
I thought they were too much like bark, and so
I let you go
breathing deeply as I watched my hand fly free
Because I knew then that you would always be there
rooted firmly in the ground
Even though your hand fell softly, sadly, quietly
a lonesome and inevitable decay masked in happy hues of gold and orange
Like a leaf in autumn,
it was a beautiful lie

You were dying
Dehydrated, faded and growing cold
and I had left, feathers falling from the sky
Winter came
and you must have fallen further and further because
Your rosy flush was soon lost in the snow
and I never saw you again

Now, I can't help but wonder
where you landed and who is touching you now
and maybe tasting the small pools of sweat
that collect delicately in your temples as you play
And sometimes at night, I'd like to think that
I was the ground upon which you fell
But then I see the wind whipping through the trees
and I am reminded that I am
free, so very free.

However, now as I lay silent in this quilted cell
All I can hear is the leaves as they fall violently from the trees
And I realize that this little, feathered heart is the only one I have
and the only one that belongs to me