SPARROW

SPARROW

It’s not the wind that lacerates

Not the wind that barks or howls.

The wolf at the door is a sullen soul.

I hear the whispering wings of owls

And feel the game that macerates,

The long trackless night like a hole

In the sky that drains the day of light.

What was big within is put to flight.

Where have you gone little sparrow?

Without you, long is the way, and narrow.