Sestina for Hearts and Birds

The corner of my heart

Is a graveyard where words

Are buried in tombs of silence.

They are vestiges of memories, never

Clear enough to break

To the surface. But my heart’s memory is clear enough.

I’m happy, now. Happy enough,

Anyway. But my heart

Is warped into angles that break

The wings of birds that--like words--

Slowly die in cages. I’ve never

Minded their moribund silence.

A moment of silence

Is an eloquent eulogy. It is enough

To make me believe I never

Kept an aviary in my heart,

That it was a place where words

Sang every morning before daybreak.

What caused me to break?

Silence

Is the only answer I find. Words

are inadequate, not enough
To explain to my heart

when it will find love: never.

Never

Is a long time. I’d break

Down crying if I thought I’d have the heart

To pick myself up after the tears dried up into silence.

But I know I’m not strong enough,

And words are only words.

My words

Will never

Be enough

To break

The silence

In my heart.

The birds never bury themselves deep enough;

Soft plumes break the surface of the earth-heart,

Tiny cairns without words, sepulchers of silence.