The Birds have fled the Cross

The birds have fled the cross
There is no waiting now
The air is stitched with loss
Under its troubled brow

And as the birds there weep
Sing far and wide and deep
A mellow destiny of lore
For those who fell asleep

I dare not say I know them
For then I should know death
This inane shouldered breath
Of which we seldom speak

Listen now for you can
Hear it too
The whisper of the clouds
Inside you
And the soul of every man

The birds have fled the cross
Time for another journey
Spread across this patch of moss
I end my final worry.