Each
night
you thrum,
hummingbird,
in your cage beside
my head, pinions lullabying
the hot air from my brow. Once, as a child, I thought you
a tender nurse–I pitied you, singing in your steel-
barred pen; I longed to lift your hatch
and set you free. Then
one evening
a fruit-
fly
came
skimming
into your
reach, and I saw you
rend it to its lowest fractions,
from whole creature to particle-mist. Then at last I
understood your foreign song. Even now your low voice
spills forth pleas, while you shake your cage
upon its axis:
Let me out,
love, let
me
out.
But I
have watched you
kill and eat. I'm no
longer fooled. Your makers shut you
up because they knew too well the violence of wings.
