Would the cup of my palms nestle you?
Give you a nestling’s echoing chamber,
where you could trill all you want or can?
That wind behind the trees, would it pick
your notes up and let your song be whole
again, your refrains brave and true again?
Through these woods, troll like a stout
heart whose one crescendo is of gladness
that the day’s night must bring a sunrise
as bright as it is gentle when it presses
your cold back to a warm hug of home,
where you will fearlessly sing your song:
Fly with me to the swaying tree tops!
Reach out for me. I am back. I am home.
---Albert B. Casuga07-12-11
Prompt: My audible heart wants a nest like a cup in the fork of a tree./Lit up at night, in that forest of softened trills, who/knows how the air might shear its stuttering refrains,/join the failed parts of songs as leitmotif?---From “Unending Lyric” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 07-12-11