I was going to write something serious and this came out instead. For the dverse prompt.
The bird flew out of the turret
above the waving fronds
of water weed and minnows
in drowning sunset ponds.
The bird flew high and mighty
wreathed in golden flame
for the house in the woods was falling
stones were falling down like shame
and I held out hands in pleading
watched the webbed veins fire-glow
called the bird to taste the waters
that were gleaming here below.
A salmon leap in darkness
and the pool with berries strung
was a web of white moth-flutter
a song that’s never sung
a song in bird-throat frozen
tales ended before they’re begun
and a bird-love lost in the ocean
where flames wave like hands in the sun.