~T. ALAN BROUGHTON~

BIRD IN THE GARAGE

---

Trapped, you beat against the window,
would not fly to an open door.
Beyond the pane you saw green grass,
a sky splotched with leaves and limbs.
No matter how you beat wings
or jabbed a beak and pressed on glass,
the world did not accept the need,
refused to give.  My gloved hands groped,
you gave up feathers, untimely molting,
and then held still, waiting for the stroke
to put an end, and yet when I opened
wide air to you again, you flew,
small heart and wings still fluttering,
away from my world of shadowy light
and something transparent holding me back.

 
 

© by T. Alan Broughton