Nine

In the same twenty-four hours:
You and I, flying over rooftops and trees
Landing on two distant doorsteps.
You, white house picket fence stethoscope you
Stand with a sparrow well-groomed.
I, ending the journey alone
In a red-brick window sill
Peering inside.
I have broken a few bones
Over our journey of four years
And my wings need are in need
Of resetting, and a man
Is inside the red-brick house:
He is a little jealous, and opens the window
To keep me close, so I can't fly away again.
He puts the bones back in place
And if I could weep I would
Through the white sharp icepick pain. That moment
Protracted over days weeks months years,
Ending when you say the words
And I do not hear them
Because I am listening believing to the red brick man
Who tells me sweetly that I am worth
More than many sparrows.