38.  Denying the Aftermath

They gave you

Like a little bird

in my hand

And made me

Promise

Not to close

and crush.

I'm poor

on promises

But right flush

With good intentions

To the point

That they scatter

And flutter behind

Me,

Birds with no

wings.

And every time

I peek beneath

My fingers

I remember,

A little

But not all

Of it.

"Close"

then

"Crush,"

Denying the aftermath

Or even the "right now"

Reality that's often

Known

Of our

Kind.