The yellow bird sang like tomorrow had already happened.

More about The yellow bird sang like tomorrow had already happened.

A bird arrived before the dawn,
as though my silence called it home.
The door stood open.
I did not.

Bones can sit for years
waiting for a heartbeat
that misplaced the address.

The heart floated higher
than the room could explain.
Even shadows looked up.

The red sun signed its name
across ordinary houses.
Nobody admitted seeing it.

Love grew too large
to fit inside a chest.
It rented the street instead.

The face became weathered
by staring at one question:
Who keeps the fire alive?

A song crossed the water
without asking permission.
Even the mist listened.

Color broke itself apart
just to discover
one face worth becoming.

The yellow bird sang
like tomorrow had already happened.
Night forgot its argument.

She carried the mirror.
The mirror carried time.
Neither one complained.

The bird waited
where no map bothered going.
Patience has wings.

The sky wore a red coin.
The bird spent nothing
and became rich.

Branches remembered
what cities forget:
every winter rehearses spring.

Death borrowed a frame
to see itself more clearly.
It blinked first.

Every closed room
is secretly practicing
how to become a doorway.

She embraced the burden
until it answered
with warmth.

The scarlet thought
behind the forehead
outlived every excuse.

Some birds refuse cages.
Some hearts refuse endings.
The difference is invisible.

Hope never shouted.
It simply stood there
waiting to be noticed.

The smallest stranger
opened the oldest door.
Neither seemed surprised.

The bird owned nothing
except its direction.
That proved enough.

Night folded itself
around a single ember.
Morning was inevitable.

Inside the hollow
someone had already left
a place for breathing.

The child looked on.
The bird remained.
The heart, at last,
needed no witness.