I curse the bird for singing

your eyes not hazel, but the color of endings. a bird once landed in my chest and refused to leave until you spoke.

under the maple, I never touched your mouth builds futures like children build cities of sand

now: Broken pieces scattered beneath my ribs. love didn’t leave you did. love begged. you watched. you hurt. you judged. you flew. you held.

and still, i curse the bird for singing and think of the past, of our beginning