fragments of recent dreams – a writing exercise

a hummingbird – gently insistent –
tangled itself into my hair
and peeked from beneath to titter
into my un-understanding ear
***
they showed to me the uneven patch
you had mown in the grass – the short
beside the long – before the star super nova’d
in your chest and you fell to green forever
***
strange gray paint on the pillars
of that house in New Orleans –
I leaned on your rusted red bike,
said the universe wants me to tell you…

© Sarah Whiteley

bird pieces

the joy of being a bird
must be enormous –
no one else
sings so long

* * *

crow testing my crow-ness
settles beside me
to scold the garbage truck –
my silence fails the test

* * *

first day in May,
jagged bits of sky –
stumbled upon
the first robin’s egg

* * *

© Sarah Whiteley

Not everything I write down becomes a full-fledged poem. But sometimes the fragments are enough to make me happy.