You are a little like a brass birdcage:
a cherry-red cardinal inhabits you,
but even if your door were left open,
it would not spread its wings, it would not
sing, it would only linger on its perch,
plumed head tucked, waiting for the
night’s veil to cover you and bury
it within shadow’s silent smother.

If only the birdcage were not there;
if only.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
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