I hung my soul to dry on a fence post near the property line,
Just out of sight.
Days passed, rains came; it stiffened
Small black spots grew bit by bit
Then it was past rescue and fraying.
But I was angry for what she cost me, and now the trouble of repair
And then to wear such a tattered, raggy thing?
So a bird came, got some threads for her nest,
Soon another
The tree overhead resounds with birdsong at five am
My soul wakes and smiles, her good ear counts the trills
We sleep and dream again.
