Disintegrating Ode for a Nightingale

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A blizzard         a figure inside it         I mistook it for a nightingale

mistaking the blows for a cage         when they took out the heart

it was boneless          a purple moon worn down to the arterial

source we wrapped in burlap         years before I was mistaking

fireflies & moths for my natural glow         I pulled them in

for a tighter orbit        twisted into Lethe’s tight knot of root

& drooped my head among his flowers         I dropped matches

into Jupiter just to watch a thick ball of hydrogen go ablaze         asked

that when I died my ashes be danced in like a dark confetti          now

I mistake nothing         the moon pulls the water to the shore         a blue

mist drags the lake         the beady-eyed face in the bathroom with

the evils is obviously your own but what exactly made it yours you can’t

remember         of Lincoln it is said that his melancholy dripped

as he walked         Siddhartha is said to have been fine

before his melancholy dripped before he was enlightened       his father hid

a kingdomful of corpses         but suffering is hard to hide       

when I gaze into the blizzard I mistake a nightingale for a boy        smoke drips

from the leaves        the air he breathes is blue        he doesn’t notice

when I call         coughing blood onto the snow         his heart aches