I can’t explain
what is inside my head
It’s broken and infamous
in various circles
Unassuming and ordinary
in others
Swirls unobtrusively
around us all
rising from inside me
as would a storm or subway train
It obscures itself
more or less
I suspect it is just
ordinary human
stuff
Made up of those small idiot things
I’ve forgotten or turned
into a fabric of loss
magnified and made magical
It will hide me
Now you see me
Now you won’t
until you turn away
Perhaps even before that
I am so afraid
there is nothing really
to find within

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T

Your mother handed
her happiness at birdsong
down to you.

You kept it
hidden away but today
pulled it out from
a hidden pocket and 
put it on:

a wren locket
on a cardinal chain
and now is that sound
of you crying, or is that
a mockingbird we hear?
It had to have learned
that melody somewhere.

Somewhere
in memory
a young girl
dances madly
in a mirror
to the warble
of your tears.