Palm-sized and fledgling, a beak

protruding from the sleeve, I

have kept my birds muted

for so long, I fear they’ve grown

accustom to a grim quietude.

What chaos could ensue

should a wing get loose?

Come overdue burst, come

flock, swarm, talon, and claw.

Scatter the coop’s roost, free

the cygnet and its shadow. Crack

and scratch at the state’s cage,

cut through cloud and branch,

no matter the dumb hourglass’s

white sand yawning grain by grain.

What cannot be contained

cannot be contained.