Goodbye

It was easy to send you off, 
up into the inviting sky 
with its stage lighting bright 
then dim according to mood, 
not because you were not 
precious to me--nothing, 
nothing out there could 
be more precious to me-- 
but because you are a bird 
and I could never snip-snip, 
with two or four cruel clips, 
your wings and take the hand 
you have in the game we play, 
the winning hands that allow you 
fly fly fly, and you wanted to fly; 
I did not dare to ask why, 
or trouble you with worries 
of finally crashing or not being able 
to navigate the starless skies, 
but simply--again, you were everything 
to me, it’s no lack of care-- 
let go of you, and your hollow bones, 
which I thought were mere convenience 
for my holding you all day 
and showing off your shocking showy colors 
to all and sundry others, these bones 
of yours allowed you to flap flap fly 
into the sky as I went to my chair 
to write, write what replaced whatever cries 
I might have made to heartless skies 
for you to come back, flap back 
instead of flapping goodbye.  At least 
you flapped and waved goodbye, I wrote 
at least you waved goodbye, 
and took a heavy, warming-peaceful sigh.