Birds sing and the monarch flies, the something in the middle avoided.
Apologies for nothing.
They have to be believed in to be.
Like the sound of wood crunching under a bumper.
The sound of a couple fighting.
Tiny feet on wood.
Crunching.
The sound of wings breaking in lost time.
A barely remembered memory of who even knows who or what I was screaming at anymore
A beast in the sky.
Tiny tittering creatures of flight.
The knowledge that life must be sustained and that all life is integral to the picture being taken in this second of space,
Without the means to express it outloud,
Or the will to stand up anymore.
Elucidating Questions 
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