freedom needs the wings of starlings

I love you as certain dark things are able to be loved in secret between the shadow and soul. ~Pablo Neruda



how shadows shorten at high noon--
and slip into distortion at night
as night pulls the strings-
obscuring everything--

our penny loafers dance
in long shadowed walks, and wind swept talks
between moon waning, and sky raining-
curtailing the cataclysm of hoofs

a Monet impression in the greying snow--
just outside my living room window
is it a mourning dove or a magpie--
singing, and nibbling on the old seeds



she sings in the wings, in woody allen oboe tones
while shadows shorten--and then again--
going to shadow's greatest length
until her evidence is no longer sensed

as night pulls the strings of marionette birds,
filling in the choices of what to eat--
hardened corn, sunflower seed, cherry flavored black seed:
a mix for royalty- birds on high

the domestication of a song cannot be sung-
for freedom needs the wings of starlings,
and the sheer agility of a robin

between the worlds of wildness, and homeland security
resting the case of which pronoun to utilize-
pronounced just how it sounds:
he-she, xx, xy