songs form like shadows in the afternoon
they are born of warm black vinyl revolutions
mapping out the injured soul beneath that cotton dress
where nimble feet and painted toes wrestle in the spring grass
alone and happy
twisting in the backyard bloom
her eyes tuned in harmony
a sea of wind torn petals in the air
children racing on their bikes next door
the blacktop gravel gently vibrating
while sheets form billowing clouds
enveloping her body in a silky dust
she sings from coffee stained lips
but in the silence no one can hear
or perhaps i am wrong
there are birds drawing near
they are nestled on fence posts
and in the trees just beyond
gathered for this moment
drawn from above
they are captive like an audience
in this theatre filled with sound
astonished by the beauty of this thing on the ground
and they wonder in their way
as birds often do
but soon disappear
wings striking towards heaven
like so many notes in the sky
and she wonders for a moment
as women often do
will they come back tomorrow
if her song remains the same
or will they travel to another
not knowing how she longs
to sing with the birds
alone on her lawn
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/22/13
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