morning stories of the modern world
it’s dawn
and the mockingbird
is spinning
suddenly i want
to fly again
straight off the ends
of this square peg earth
into the winding path
of freedom’s glee
burrow deep into the heart
of day-blind skunk
and know the strength
that builds red bricks
from beasts of prey
ripple down
across the shoulder
of this rolled-boulder current
pounded smooth against
a blanket of doused flame
no longer
broken
but
broken open
open
and mirrored
plain
yet again
i climbed a mountain to return a heart-shaped rock,
walked a forest and forgave the past of everything,
broke a leg and knitted living back together,
skirted vulture cliffs and jumped only with my smile,
buried crack-lipped hallelujahs beneath the twisted tree of pain
it’s morning
and the mockingbird
is singing
. . . . .
