Into the self-reflected kiss, the glass that masquerades as air, like breaking in, this one coming in, yellow beaked, disheveled, the opposite of captured—this one coming in
—despite the full moon rising, lighting up migration,
glanced off walls, hurtled up the stairs, shit, defiling
Such birds—the aves sacer—darken jungle gyms, their screams the screams of children.
I had thought to feed them from my hand. Line the cage with papers.