it's such a small thing;
fragile in its shimmery way:
shaking its baby feathers
in a downy nest, which rests
near the healing heart.
it's tiny really.
the chest savors how it shivers looking down;
it wants it so badly it trembles with it.
it knows, I know, that it will soon fall
and it wants.
the heart does not know whether it,
the delicate thing, will be caught in air,
be shattered into splinters,
or that the vibrating thing will ruffle
its wings and fly.
it wants so badly it aches,
bouncing with every beat in the bosom.
it can't stay there much longer, even
as the fuzz falls out to grow afresh,
and its flight feathers are that much stronger.
it's so small so soft so naive,
tucked into the safest most vulnerable part,
and it wants take off.
it wants so badly it jiggles forward.
it wants so badly, it flutters.
it tries to fly;
it falls

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