Swallows

a last attempt to fly off somewhere
from this hen house this stable
this bedroom where the sweet
hurried scents of a bestial nest hang

over there over there—to the noble sky
where electrical wires are like a pedestal
and where the fiery strokes of a rainbow
are the spasmodic delights of a miserable life

like gloves black from our fingers
like black and white keys on a grand piano
like fireworks on a festival night
they fly from their native nest

they are already there—invisible
like the un-ending sound of the final abyss
so courageous and so cold
the solitary flights of our lives

Copyright © 2005 Olena Jennings All rights reserved
from Chelsea
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission