Daniel B. Silver



Across the room, the blackbird preens
Her stately breast pushed out for all to see
There's coal for eyes with double black accents
Staring into the core of me

See, there's this song I know, about lovers long lost
A tragic down-tuned ditty that you could learn to play
There's a wailing harmonic on the guitar

And a baseline and kick drum to guide the way

From the other side of the hall the mourning dove cries
Her lonesome warble escorted by the breeze
She's got these feathers of gray, both light and dark
But the varying shades only serve to tease