Yes, I hear you.

Your whispered messages are delivered

on gentle breezes

that travel over the vast ocean

and dance with the torrents

that lash the faces of frightened sailors.

They crash into my shores

and conceal themselves

within the gusts of gale force winds,

only to soar above the carnage that remains

until they are caught up in the sparrow’s wing

and set upon the frozen branch.

And, with sweet sparrow, they sing

in gentle harmony,

telling me that there is someplace else

I ought to be.