Moon at Half Past Noon

A mother’s beak brushed tender life,
Nourishment, love, a flood of bliss.
Then she vanished—wings fluttering, slicing the air,
As if a rumble, a storm’s last fleeting breath.
Stirring, not just the nest, but the cosmos itself,
And I, a hatching, asleep in the depths
of a shadow and a remorseless endless sorrow.

Tiny, I slip from the perch, a fragile straw cradle.
Weightless, blind eyes tracing unseen worlds.
A dark passage, my feet clutching, but no tether to hold.
A sob, a sudden fear, shrinking me to nothing.
Somehow, the Earth curled, a mother’s embrace reborn.
Gentle, immense, my heart gasped, alive – a life.

Centuries, eons, cast away in a blink.
The one I called mother, never returned.
Brothers and sisters, no warmth to hug, even if I roll and turn?
Is this life, this fate carved for me?
An unending wait of a waif; frozen in time,
No dawn, no noon, in sight only twilight.

A stir, a stomp, a roar—terror seizing this fragile soul.
A gentle hand, rosy and warm, stroked away the dread.
Breaths, once trapped, liberated, danced in new joy.
As if a treasure-hungry heart found its ruby glow.
Steps quickened, urgent, alive with sudden light.
A baby bird, pure and trembling, walked into dawn’s radiant hum.