Joy, ephemeral as a blackbird’s song,
As his fragile feathered life,
Carried on balmy breezes,
Disperses with the merest sigh,
In a cloud of mist and thistledown.
But pain uncurls in every broken heart,
Opens heavy arms to embrace the dark,
Beats a swathe, red raw between the dancing trees,
To tear a path beyond the round of sleep,
And clawing through the cold and airless wastes,
Fills the space that lies between the stars,
Swelling into infinity.