That bird is you

I fell in love once with a bird

who found my balcony

every time whenever the rain

turned the garden green.

He would sit quietly,

wet-winged and unafraid,

as if the storms were his kin.

I wanted to read his silence;

the way he tilted his head

before the rain grew heavy,

the way he waited

for the wind to settle,

the way he would make little sounds

as if delivering some sermons to me.

Some mornings,

he would leave without a sound,

and the balcony felt strangely larger.

I never knew what he saw

beyond the roof walls,

only that he always looked

towards something I couldn't see.

Perhaps that is what drew me to him—

he carried a world within his wings

that I could only stand beneath,

and could never be a part of.

That bird...was it you, my love?