starling

i'm your starling;
cupped in the palms of your open hands.
i say; "i think i'll be a bird this summer"
and your arms come around me
from behind.
my chatter spirals down,
the melrose tree avenues, or else
in the garden, housing soul's rest.
leave me to feel the pressing of lips
to a warm, sun-blushed cheek.
and it was this year,
the snow melted in our hair.
fading rivulets,
a birdsong.