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


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.