collection plate

your eyes are like
deep puddles of grieving stars
on an empty side street.
and you've tried to slip
your frozen fingertips
under the new sun
rising just beneath your cheeks,
coaxing forth a more fluid,
resolving heat.
but you see the little sparrow
with her broken wing
falling from a leafless branch,
calling your name,
singing sweetly in your ears
the last song she saved before her dying,
her rescue just beyond your reach.