The Ceremonial beak-full of Mercurochrome

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When the assassin’s bullet of 
rejection
Hits your heart 
All the birds
Of your enchanted forest 
Are suddenly stilled 
And
Grounded by grief 
Because only those with wings
Truly understand
The risks of flight.

After a moment of silence
They assemble
Like memorializing Wallendas
Along a high-wire branch
And sing a healing song from
The plume of their chests
In honor of you,
Their fallen comrade.

And then 
After applying 
the ceremonial beak-full of mercurochrome 
And a kiss 
straight from the nest 
To the scraped knees of your ego

They take to the skies

In perfect 
formation

Because

They still have worlds
to conquer

And love to search for

And poetry to finish.


Just like you.

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