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i lost love to the morning bird.
we slept quietly, on haunches.
waking, i asked.  only birds heard.

the pillow sprang back, unstirred.
the tree unleafed its red branches.
i lost love to the morning bird.

the wine glass stood there, still third
from me and the pavement's crunches.
waking, i asked.  only birds heard.

maybe, love thought it was lured,
and then harpooned from the trenches.
i lost love to the morning bird.

the bird felt ill, but i cured:
"you do not chirp the right hunches."
waking, i asked.  only birds heard.

honestly, i would have preferred
to lose to me, not to finches.
i lost love to the morning bird.
waking, i asked.  only she heard.

11.5.98