Birds soar high above the ice chiseled cliffs, roil over ancient forests at the moss covered foothills of Mountains. I hear the voices of ancestors, perverse whispers of hate and grudges, they are witness to our deception. They know the gaps in our souls are filled with the same darkness as theirs. When we once again come face to face they will tell us how the hours passed so quickly. You are that bird whose wings beat the air senseless, rainstorm eyes protest a dream unlived. That perfect blue honey of desire you washed away in golden brown. Swoop down, I miss the sound of you. Tell me how to survive beginnings. Save me from this carousel, my arms outstretched not knowing I am still spinning.