the understanding had gone.
it was solid once, tangible to the hand
as it was to the mind and heart.
it was easier then, too. (it is
different when fingers can grasp
and hold,
comforting like a childhood blanket.)
loneliness sings like a solitary bird
in an empty nest,
it does not choose sides
or hold grudges,
it's as simple as an indrawn breath
that needs to be exhaled.
the air once was filled with happy chirping,
boisterous song, industrious notions,
filling the corners and subterranean floors.
i had hoped for some quiet, a place to withdraw
so i could come back again with eagerness
and camaraderie.
but winter came,
and the nest grew distant and absent,
no refuge for the fragile and growing
(everything had grown up too soon,
that it was impossible to catch up).
flown away, more than a handspan,
all the eyes had left were the memories,
reminders of better, kinder days,
of love balanced and bottomless.
in the end, the bottom fell out,
and my smile gave way
to an empty doppelganger.

the songs had stopped.