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.