Mad Birds

Ah God, unlid this sky
and free the wild birds who throw themselves
against it like stones against armored glass.
Unlid these sleeping eyes,
reveal the vast and turning armillary spheres
and the silent axles that support the wheels
rolling under the universe.
Smoke: all this machinery is smoke and mirrors
clotted now with cobwebs and we fumble blind.
Our fingers tell us truths
the eyes refuse to see. They find the gaps
between the gears, the frayed places in the fabric
the hinge in the sky's lid
that lets in a single crack of dazzling light
against which the birds throw themselves.
Of course the birds are mad.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside