Barn Swallow

you are golden but I would rather you be silver
silver, pearl tipped and purer than the blue sea

beams bounce off the glimmering sidewalk
blinding the wary sun back into its amber tomb

distracted, you perch on a white crescent
my fingertips nick on the tips of the moon

blood drips towards the earth as if it were rain
you are reluctant, you skirt around my affliction

soon it will be day and you will be blackened
empty and fearful of the abrupt darkness

the sun will call and you will be beneath its warmth
because you are flight and you glow royally.