Little Bird

the-destiny-of-the-pendulum:

held like breath
in lungs of glass
    a fragile hope

rendered intangible
this bird, too meek
     to part its beak
and make a sound

docile and
weighing
      almost nothing
still, it must be grasped

latent are its wings
heart hushed by the wind

lullabies scare
what is tender
        and quiet
for fear of
      waking.