We met
   under a shower
of bird-notes.
   Fifty years passed,
love's moment
   in a world in
servitude to time.
  She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
  closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
  'Come' said death,
choosing her as his
  partner for
the last dance. And she,
  who in life
had done everything
  with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
  for the shedding
of one sigh no
  heavier than a feather.