THE BIRDS

you sing songs to me
i do not listen, my tastes have changed
you play a guitar, the grey colour of eyes
but it is my eyes I see 
and the birds
a reflection
they have gathered on the tree beyond the window
they compete with you and i'm annoyed
i can't hear them
i hear you instead but I don't listen
your fingers are skillful
precise
a perfect rhythm, unlike my heart
which has stopped
you stop
you wipe your eyes which are grey
you are grey
i am grey
you walk away 
your footsteps in perfect time with my heart
which beats again
I listen to the birds

Marion Price(2020)