Poem 167: The Remains of the Clay

the shattered remains

of a young bird

decomposing whatever

unsung hero music

there is in this first flight

from the nest

where an errant breeze

or weak twig

or non-cooperative wing

or too loud a noise

or too absent a parent

brings this clattering

fall from grace

when even Gods face

is turned away

while we with wings of steel

burnished by the sun

strain for flight

and twitter on the edge

of the indefensible fence.

and refuse to fly.