The Soul of a Dead Bird
My soul flew without its wings,
My cry pierced the breathless silence.
Humans were drunk with sleep;
only my feline foe roamed the yard.
She silently approached where I perched,
my instinct pecked the scent of danger.
I thought I could fly to the sky to kiss the stars,
beyond the cat whose stomach howled with hunger.
Alas, the cage fell.
All I could see was a hungry feline gaze;
her pupils brightened and shone like a partly broken incandescence.
She meowed, and its hunger stared at me menacingly.
Then she leapt, her claws wrapping round my wings;
she sank her canines and my throat quivered.
My blood soaked her thirst and satiated her hunger—
and my soul slowly flew out without its wings.
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