Katrina Kaye

The sun aches,
an orange jewel in violet.
We share too many mornings
in silence. All our words
migrate.

The sparrows fled
late this year.

They found it easy
to sleep among windowpanes,
rest in late afternoon sun.
Far too easy to fall from
treetops, when their
time has come.

I grew old
with the ebb of summer,
but my little girl’s smile,
a yellow butterfly,
bright and tender,
shimmered in dawn’s mist.

Fluttering against the blue,
life rustles beside
drying leaves on wilted vines.
There is something so free
about a flirting bird following
its kin as the seasons change.
I caress her flushed cheeks
with hands spotted by time.
These lined lips can not
match her vibrant grin.

It’s time to follow
the sparrows, and leave her
to the fall.

“Migration” is previously published in Trailing Sparrows (2014).