Inside her
beechwood velvet domain,
the bird is beguiled
by the sunlit distance outside.
Frailty combs cruelly every feather,
as an apocalypse covers darkened eyes.
She rids the Broken of her wings,
and offers it to the lacerations
of what used to be a bad life.
And the darkening begins to tremble:
tomorrow is fluttering light.
She will fly and be beguiled
forgetting the aeons she toiled inside.
Chasing little reds, she hums the death
of paeans for all the untimely ends.
And the beechwood velvet melts,
as the bird's little life
chooses to fly beyond the cage.