not love

she's gathering flowers from the grass,
picking sorrowful thoughts from dreams,
those are tears not dewdrops on the green.

dawn in the city is dusty,
she cuts her long hair for a broom.
only snatches of tuneless songs left to collect.

anguishes come and go,
she's been watchful, they tend to stay
hidden in some cobwebby corner of the heart.

tell her it's not her you love,
but when she was shaking out the songs and thoughts
from her window, you stood beneath
and looking up fell in love with the illusion of a bird
that wiped all lustful thoughts in your head
with the soundless flap of her white wings.