Nightingale

The nightingale sings
of a boy in pajamas who waits
on a bed covered in sheets of blue.
A solitary note rings sharp against
the quiet, as darkness creeps in.

He waits for sleep to take him
past bitterness swallowed.
For nests to empty of fledglings
learning to wing their way.
Most to be devoured before
they grow to escape the others
who feast on the weakest.
The indignant mothers squawk
to empty forests.

The crow gives the boy more
water, waiting for him
to heave up scarlet secrets
hidden deep in the well
where bottom can not be seen.
A murder forms to see what
the boy guards so earnestly,
urging him to surrender
what they have gathered for.

The nightingale sings a solitary note,
sharp against the quiet of the darkness.