you're,
from another novel,
another life,
another time,
some other sparrow,
I already cupped,
in the heart of my palm,
counted the breaths between,
and let go,
yes, you are that,
sparrow,
and yet,
when the night ends,
a year and half down the road,
when I feel so incredibly alone,
asleep in the opiate sheets,
of the city of roses,
you are the lullaby,
I hear, singing,
the call,
to fly me,
as if to your arms,
counting the breaths between,
here, and,
home
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