From The Collected Poems of Patrick Lane (Harbour Publishing, 2011)
The Bird
The bird you captured is dead.
I told you it would die
but you would not learn
from my telling. You wanted
to cage a bird in your hands
and learn to fly.
.
Listen again.
You must not handle birds.
They cannot fly through your fingers.
You are not a nest
and a feather is
not made of blood and bone.
.
Only words
can fly for you like birds
on the wall of the sun.
A bird is a poem
that talks of the end of cages.
.
I’m attending a poetry retreat with Patrick Lane this summer, so I’ve been reading his work. I’m looking forward to the opportunity to study with him!
Shawn L. Bird 