Birdsong raised to fever pitch,
cacophony almost, the need
to run with covered ears crawling
along her veins, begging her to go
– just go! – before she breathes,
notices the flowers, the clichéd
beauty, but it’s there; it’s air
in her lungs, calming balm, song
to soothe her frantic pulse.
A dawn breeze dances across her face
and she walks, embraced by nature,
and determined in her decision.
Crescendoing whispers of traffic
bear witness and applaud.