Flights 

{I.} 

The songbird flees from cage to cage 

and hides through windowed night 

Barefoot along the gutter eves 

to ply the quiet tiles unseen 

to flee sad men of suicides who with marchlike noise shout in halls 

of old hotels and tenements 

in search of faceless nooks of grief. 

{II.} 

Hidden upon moonlit rooftops she slinks among the slopey gutter grooves 

in sync with silent solopsist dangers 

where capture, plunder are rendered void 

just as blossom stings of beauty find in sightless rain escape from death by deaf heat's dead redundant creep. 

Like wingless stars contrive to hide 

behind the windless clouds the all 

of silent suns undone by awe.