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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

limits.

 

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.

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