a room with a balcony.
I won’t be bounded
within a ceiling, floor, four walls,

I imagine a French door
glide over Italian tile       lean
over the rail and know
the world is listening.

I trill words, notes no bird
has ever dreamed
dance around potted pansies
tickle the arborvitae.

Pausing when the hummingbird
preens on the wet holly leaf, shiny
as a mirror, I reach for its red
throat, pulsing.