the bird

sits, watching

under the tree

as my fingers touch

the trunk

i hear it whisper

come to me

inch forward

even closer

both palms pressed against it

i smile

is this enough?

no, even closer, it whispers

you belong here

with me

the bird

sits, watching

as i dig around it

the smell of soil

fresh,

the taste on my tongue

as i eat some of it

a small hole

gets bigger

my hands are a testimony

the bird

sits, watching

as i brush my hands, my clothes

in preparation

look around

no one notices

too busy, i suppose

as i lie underneath

the tree

snug in the hole

freshly dug

not a grave

your home, the tree whispers

the bird

oh my

a silent witness