I trap with no curtains to curb my fall, these four corners

when I’m used to globular nothing 

and dropping off. I am crazed 

by Mediterranean air, cold and boxed in here. 

 

I’ve never seen glass 

that isn’t clouded over by seafoam, sheltered

among warm grainy ground. I miss it,

 

scared to be lost in a manmade place,

a cold place, wing bent from broken lamp. 

You, sleep-ruddy and unscared, stare. 

 

If I could, I’d tell you

be saved by the man who almost set me free again

when he worked hinges of the hidden exit,

almost loosing me further into a place

with sharp tile corners

 

and no straight path to escape through. 

I am wild. I am you,  

nineteen, scared and shrinking,

getting feathers all over the place.

A well-needed sign of good luck

 

for your new life and the hungry open world,

a sign and a chance for the man 

who sleeps in a too-big bed

waiting for you to slip in

and make it warm. Corner to corner,

 

following the trapped night breeze,

I’ll back to the window

and sing the free-love morning, beak full of herbs

from his garden like a wedding dove.