A Nightingale's Heart

Once a nightingale leaves the tender arms of the breaking sun, one may think it yearns for the morning star to arise again from the ashes of the day, but even if it stops singing and flies away, one can be sure of its delight and longing for the day and it can easily be confounded for the seeking of its own self. 

No one, not even the moon, confident of the nightingale's secret pain and sweet dreams may be sure, for none of them speaks the same language in which the bird talks. But the letters on a nightingale's chest run wild through the breath and get under the dreams of rocks and clouds, speaking of love and beauty, whispering about its beloved sun, asking if he is to come again to her. It wonders if the sun yearns and dreams and laughs and cries. The star, so distant, so warm, so far.