there are the days
when I must unbraid
the strands of rain
and free the birds trapped in the rainbow…
…deceived, enchanted, dissolved…
there are the days when the ink dries out
and the wind blows away all the pages.
I cut my fingertips and write
on the bark of the tree, on the street.
the last verse I master over the white of the clouds.
…the rain falls in stranded beads…
there are days when the air soaked
with a delirious mist of broken things,
butterflies drink the tears off the flowers,
the bars of the cage rust and turn to dust,
the birds break free…
…lost, crippled, helpless, hopeful…
© 2012 by Nina K Orlovskaya
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