Wednesday, July 22, 2015


within the measurement of breath
you grab hold of a baby bird.
you weigh it
as a matter of contrast.
you cradle it
within the palm of your hand
just to make sure it fits.
you convince yourself
that there are no mistakes,
just some personal facts.
like that,
something snaps,
wings grow,
eyes explode,
a nest is something that cannot hold
this heaviness anymore.

a trajectory has been made.