Little Bird

Within the cage of
bone and breath, 
my heart:
a small and fluttering thing
of quick movements;
staccato rhythm.

Descending depths unknown,
I let it lead;
my small canary
with nails clipped short.

When breath leaves
it will fall quietly;
sing my warning
with silence piercing.
No perch left
to hold.

I can taste
the racing pace
of fear,
coppery and strange.

Lower,
my heart,
through years and ages;
a single candle
guttering
to light
the endless paths.

Sing,
until you cannot;
move unhindered
beneath deepest layers
of earth and sky
where fingers of rock
curl and rise
in half light
like hands
of gods forgotten.

Fall,
little bird,
only at the last,
and within that pool of light
beside your empty cage
I will know:
how the air
has grown strange,
how the path
has led me astray,
how the day
has ended.

Go before me
and I will know.

Jan 19, 2005

Kristen Gilpin