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.