Soon. Melting.

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SOON
If I called you skeletal
it would conjure up
death,
and you are not dead.
Better -
I see your frame,
now.
Your long, outstretched
limbs
are handy perches;
the plump oval pigeons
sit grey, side by side,
always a space
between.
For the magpies
you are a climbing frame;
they hop, level to level,
to be highest,
squabbling for top notch.
The silent greys
look on
patiently
unperturbed by the
raucous cackling
They mean nought
by it - 
It is just their way.

And through the resting
and the playing
you wait your time
looking to the sky,
reaching to the depths.
Soon.


MELTING
Let it go.
Each little bit.
'Should be'
is not for now,
not for you.
Let the striving
cease.
Let the current
carry you;
it knows where.
And it will
- trust it.
And enjoy
being borne along:
- see the blue,
blue sky
- you have time now,
to watch
- and the warm sun,
let it make your face
glow,
- and the honking geese,
you have time to
watch them, now,
and laugh.
And that red, red robin
you
saw it
and heard it sing
 - for you!
The melting has
begun.
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