I scratch a line
On the wall of my cell
For each day I spend in my round opal jail.
I’m growing a weapon
To pound free from this house,
But the orange heavy hammer is still soft on my mouth.
Am i an eagle
or a hawk
rapturing mice in the sunlight?
An owl or a falcon
Crushing bunnies in the blind night?
Is this a gladus or a mace designed for the kill
Or soft smooth feathers with flippers and a bill?
Am I a fencepost vagrant, a black mocking bard
Or a pious pea hen pecking bout the yard?
Just one more crack,
And I’m off to my fate,
But for now I sit back
And dream while I wait.