My soul is a bird
trapped inside this ribcage;
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.