up in sun-
sizzled buds
of vermilion,
the delirious grackles'
strident singing—
out of hunger,
out of lust,
out of anger
and mistrust—
about how nothing
has been known
that hasn't also once
been lost,
I'm reminded
of an unfound time—
before my avian
soul was caught,
dismembered,
and eaten
by the fox
of obedience—
when I knew
life on Earth
was a circumference-
less circle;
every cry was urgent
at its infinite center—but
none of them was
controversial.
