when nightfall sheathes your eyes
and surrenders
sight to sound,
can you hear the red-breasted songstress
housed within
your bosom,
drumming against your cage,
beating against
your chest?
can you feel the vibrato
of her muffled
freedom-song,
seething the rivers rushing beneath your flesh,
pulsing earworms
through your skull?
lifetimes ago, when ions were yesterdays,
and our only ancestress
was air,
freedom was an unsung praise
and unsung praises
were all that was.
then wind gave birth to breath
and birdsong gave
rise to birds
and praises ruled the skies
til praises ruled
no more,
til praises ruled no more.