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My soul is a bird

trapped inside this ribcage;

and someday,

I hope that it will fly free,

deep into the blue sky.

The great blue sky,

whose weight holds me to the ground

under the law of gravity,

from which exclusive leniency

was granted to the birds;

who were trusted to keep within their bones

a small piece of the sky itself,

with a soft breeze and just enough sunshine

to make them light enough to fly.

All this light flows into music:

and like watching a story drawn off a page,

it runs like ink up the feathers’ shafts

to fill the vanes with colour.

I wish that I could hear the music

inside the blue jay’s blue

and the tanager’s red

and the warbler’s yellow

and I wish

that my bones

weren’t so heavy.


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