from An Island Where Evening Never Comes: A Cycle
Flight
A yellow parrot screams
in a black cage.
He keeps striking his body
against the bars and flies
and flies
and flies
till the bars turn red –
a flame of blood floating out, a contrail of pain
wafting into the night.
Tired bird,
dreaming of liberty, you
can hardly breathe
practicing flight between the bars.
Even the grass screams
beneath its scattered feathers
suddenly gone white.
My unshelterable heart gets lost
from its body
in the rigorous liberty of a prayer.
Translated by Michael M Naydan; Tess Gallagher; Lilian Ursu
Page(s) 194
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