Cry To Copernicus Poem by T.R. James Bray

It flutters in the air, in whispers,
off the tips of tongues
for millennia.
As common as the movement
of migrating birds, shaped in that obscene letter.
Hidden meaning.
Pulsing wings.
I stare at the mirror and wonder,
why the warmth
from that faraway place
draws both, the birds and you.
Away.
Blame falls off, like a scab.
Takes years to create and a moment to remove
spots of blood mark the remembrance.
I cry to Copernicus
and try to place my sun
in the center.
But that will never happen.
You're your own universe.
And I am
an empty nest
waiting, hoping
for a spring.