The Blue Bird

There’s a cage where I live
the floor is wet with salt and sorrow
The grids,
cigarette smoke wrapped up with
melancholy.
The one who possesses the key to set me free
struggles with himself to keep me
hide
locked
drowned in cheap whiskey
that keep my eyes half-shut
and I can even see if there’s still any life left in him.
He knows I want to get out
take a breath
sing a song
but he’s tough
and is too afraid that
the purity of my call
can daze the hard work that takes to keep
a bird in a cage.
Sometimes he listens to me
and we sleep together.
This nearness brings him back
the remnants of
love
freedom
and a life
once desired
once lost.
He’s strong enough
till the weight of my feathers
caresses his face.