On the Picket Wire

Our love scattered
like blackbirds
from a picket wire fence-
brilliant blue-onyx feathers
flying into cloudy skies…

Dreams and lies mingled
with truth just enough
til we drifted to a farther place
and we became
content with life on the fence.

Then shots
echoed from our
barren limbed lives
and every thing scattered
til we flew free with wings spread-
and shattered…

And there
on the fence remains
a remnant of us…
stuck on the picket wire
is one last souvenir-
a black feather,
flagging in the wind…

Sharon Frye
© 2006