The drop of a feather from
the mouth of a predator, in a stretching
seething way, a grand escape
while the prey is digested
defiant ink on paper, living on its own, with that mighty quill
the difference of hand and print
hurried emotions translated to squiggles
scrawny bits of hiccuping thoughts
and a skippy skating mind.
[ you participate in that rarity of looking beneath the lid,
slowly lifting that lid, your eyelid,
and looking, actually seeing those stars,
in a dreamer’s eyes and believing in their shine,
the act of mirroring those stars in one shiny moment.
the bulb like a Christmas light, before the wheels take you
behind those swinging double doors,
to the mercy of sharp alien knives, you sigh
and let go of the sweaty hand of a loved one,
your stomach doing back-flips and your eyelids closing…]
nothing in fact, has changed,
after that tree got uprooted from your ground, the Earth breathes,
the birds still sing, and zooming out into the cosmos,
see your same tiny self, a feather that escaped,
while the prey was digested.