Song of the Wound

Through the window on the wind

the call of the neighbor's canaries reach my ear.

The call of canaries though

is but a bruise

                    from the cage bars

and old wound for long

hovered on the larynx of the songbird.

●

Framed in the city's cement & Steel,

far from the splendor of fields, plains and hills

we prize the song of the caged.

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