June

I don’t like to hear the birds
Sing in May
It reminds me of the gone
My lonely graveyard
Easily forgotten
Fair bones to stare at
Faces, white
Laughs, they’re only teeth
I welcome them in June
Warm nights and mysterious bringings.
I like to hear the birds
Sing in Autumn
In the last light, when the sun turns
That singular lonely moment
I like to hear
Their morning song
Peaceful and reminding
April, the coldest month to come
The birds start to sing
A chill and freshly wind
I’ll cling onto my curtains
For that awful light
When the birds are silent
We know that God was visiting
With his geometric rhymes
Not losing his perfection
With his endless making white.