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
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-
I am free now to enjoy both.
Unencumbered by chains.