Slipping back to a time
before when the floor
was air and the wind was
brass and the song inside
slowed down to beat in
random time –
5/9 the signature-
odd like the sound that
her muscles made while
they held inside the
sounds her mouth
couldn’t make but
flew inside at her ribs
like caged birds that had
not forgotten the dirt and
sticks and the enduring
purpose for wings.
Not Quiet Any More 