She has feathered her nest with beaten wings, caged heart strains against bent bars.
At night She escapes and flies with lightning bugs.
Flitting through tendrils of smoke, She sees his face illuminated by campfire.
Acrid stinging, cried-out eyes, She follows the vapors to him.
He reaches, catching her from the air, rests her on the tip of his finger.
She crawls to the edge of the jar.
“You’re not ready” he whispers.