Titleless Again...

Thus was born a bird, on another moonlit night,
Shapely and clear to the sight.
Bearing you in resemblance, I called her a she;
That I could see you in her, a mirage maybe.
Breaking out of her egg, she bid adieu,
More room for her sweet sisters to follow through.
Taking baby steps she walked, marking her road,
Clouding my vision as she rode.
Elegant was her flight, as was your gait,
It was a sight worth watching all night.
Up into the trees, up amidst the leaves,
I watched as I’d watched you on several eves.
One moment in green, the next in black,
Speed was not something she did lack.
Flying off into the lofty heights, I saw in her,
The stars colouring the night azure.
Up and up she winged, not one to hover,
Nowhere to linger; no, not her, never.
It all would’ve ended well, if not for the witch,
The wicked witch Memory, who’d made a switch.
Turning the compass dial on its head,
Making up, down; and life, dead.
The bird had flown; oh it had flown alright,
But it had not flown up as a kite.
Rather as a river, in spate, all across the heartland.
Leading her sisters to drain the egg leaving it red and raw,
Setting pace for them all to cascade along the jaw.
Flying was dripping, and up was down,
The whole clouded vision had been a delusion.
All reflection of trees and stars, mere phantasm,
The reality forbidden to a weeping Adam.