Drawing a picture of the bird outside my window

gives me no control (none at all) over him.

No matter that the scarlet and ecru of the bird’s wings

are perfectly blended in an imagined water-color

flurry of feathers..

the bird is gone, flying away from the sound of my

commanding voice,

and beyond the reach of the prayers

with which I plead to the God of my bidding,

for the bird’s return.

Either God is not listening, or

I am irrelevant in Creation’s

thrusting toward tomorrow.

The bird doesn’t need me.

Nor, it seems-

at least in the way I believed it to be so-

does God.

I am free now to enjoy both.

Unencumbered by chains.