The Bird in My Throat

The bird in my throat
startles, caught.
I can feel the convulsion of its wings
in that narrow canal and see
its bright and alien eye
in the darkness of a swallow.
Plainly, it wants to escape.
Suppose its feathered self came bursting forth
and its song was a shriek about beak and talon,
wrathful from confinement?
But equally that springing voice could be
exultation,
announcing a birth in the nest, my heart,
and a broken shell revealing how
the world has wonders fledged
and what they are.

August 17 2012