In this starlit darkness, birds create bright
songs to conjure skies. Anticipate light
and soon the eastern glow will lift laments
and cries for those who, stuck in story, pent-
up, inveigled in the lies, cannot know
hope. The freedom codes outring cussed, old
perceptions of enslavement. It’s the fourth
of July. The end is nigh. To the north
the sunrise pinks this long, slow, sweet delight
unveiling mystery and now the night
is over. Dawn presides, a symphony
of trills and whistles colors brilliantly
my sight. I dance and open windows, doors
unlock. My heart instructed by the corps
of angels, spirit messengers in flight.
An owl wings over, last vestige of night.
Featured image: A bluebird yesterday, driving off a mealworm thief.