A misguided Mockingbird
sings in my driveway
at one in the morning
singing to a street lamp
A modern Nightingale
bereft of Juliet
The moon hooked on
the sky, too bright a
token and the bittersweet
smell of summer imprisoned
in my mind a quarter of a
century before makes me feel


A charmed portrait
etched in time that
entangled a youth
one brief summer and
broke my heart for life
or so I thought
Now that lost warbler
could sing for me anytime
 I would leap at the chance
to dream the hurt


The mirror watches
as I tease the declining
skin to my temples
and pretend
It is quiet now
the cageling flown
reflected years
and silent dreams
leaving the lamp to
burn away the morning

Copyright  Cara 1997