The Bird

Take it, hold it, squeeze it.
This beautiful bird is rare,
extinct is as exotic does.
The smooth feathers so soft
as to be almost greasy
to the touch.
And touch you may,
Stroke softly and worship.
Look you may,
with eyes along every inch
of colourful plumage to tailtip.
This beautiful bird is yours
Take it, hold it, squeeze it
Gently and this moment
Shall not slip through your palms
Where lines cross like
unfinished Polish motorways
Hoping one day to meet.

And I Hover, Quivering

Shimmering barrels aim high
Shot, shut, shot down like a
Beauiful bird I drop.
Wings crumple and fold in
around my breast,
These skies are too beautiful
to hold me up
I need a little darkness
The inky drapes can
hold my weight.
And I hover, quivering
in the night
Looking down upon
the twinkling houses
Where ho-hum people
go about humrum lives
And I bask in the warmth
of their contentment
Which radiates out
from the rooftops.