Sometimes your conversations rattle,
my chest a gilded rib-cage, bird
hopping and fluttering.
Sometimes it cries, but mostly
it sings, happy to swing and
clutch the rods on the edge
of its reality.
Sometimes, you and the bird, dream the same
things. Bird dreams of the unknown outside
the cage, you of the uncertainty within.
Sometimes, uncertainty within and unknown
without, a flap of wings slips under soldered-shut eyes
and you have to see with imagination. Feel without
Sometimes you fly, without boundaries, beyond the tip
of your impulse.
Sometimes you look into the void and darkness and a golden bird flies out of it.