Bend the World

A sparrow sits and sings
to belong,
oblivion giving
allowance
to her song.

A branch,
so still,
stiffens more when the wind
shakes its
thin build.

The world around
seems to know
what to give
and when to
withhold.

But the ache
and
consumption of you
bleeds out
my every
gumption to steady
this flu-
my every will
obliterated and
removed.

All the world should move
and all the trees should bend
to let me have you-
all mine,
the end.