Ripples

This little pebble in the palm of my hands, it is brightest red

And smiles up at me so round and perfect

It asks for nothing more than wings

A little bird begging for the flight from its mother

Mother bird bends over and whispers with softest chirp

"Open your wings little one, and just let go"

So my pebble arcs through crisp air

To be divinely inspired by a floating and brilliant idea

Midst the space of synapses

And internal wiring, just electricity and chemicals

The little birdy tumbles falling to the banjo strum

Of a bittersweet goodbye

The glass is in view of dark and cool

Watery surface with answers to the questions

The ones formulated by electrical currents

And as pebble breaks glass in the slowest of possible motions

I smile

And the pebble smiles

As the water cascades up in a little torrent

The ripples form, casting out on the curves of the brain

Consequently, the sky is raining ashes

On my bare head and into the pond

Through my private grove the gray snow

Comes ever so softly

The pebble is sinking

the little baby bird with broken wings

You'll be buried in ashen mush

And I'll have to take my leave

I don't have forever

And I think

Somewhere up there

The sky must be burning.