A shrieking blue jay sounds a turning point.
The day might be too long.
Cardinals perch in boxwood sacs, 
reminding me of those now gone.

I've skirted 'round an earthen hole,
peering to the bottom.  
Dirt and pebbles slip from my steps
and down into the dark and glum.

Choristers pause, holding a note
that pierces incense smoke.
The carillons ring out the hour
and half a prayer's invoked.

Is this how changes snap and tear
when events go awry?
a grinding crevice in the ground? 
a ripped seam in the sky?

Careful plots, with no solid facts
are awfully mistook,
our hero left with no recourse
but to rely upon a hook.

A shrieking blue jay sounds a turning point.
The day might be too long.
Cardinals perch, reminding me 
of people that are gone.