The Real Thing

It's the real thing.

I held a goldfinch in my hand,
It was a hopeful spring day,
The seed that he had gambled for
Still held tight in his bill.
I, the man of see-through glass
He, the bird of see-through air...
It was a grave misunderstanding.
I made a cup of love for him with my hands
As he melted away
Like a lump of coconut oil in my palms
He took some of life's sad poisons
With him.
He was the kind king,
The king of the maples.