I marvel at the bird that cannot fly
That cannot sing
He sits perched on his wire
So close to the clouds that he can almost taste the sky,
Almost sip the blue

And at daybreak when the others coo
He is alone and silent
Watching dawn paint the town red in solitude
An open beak with no music
Points upward and bathes in the light

Alone in what he lacks—
And more alone in what he has—
He sees not what he is
In his reflection in the bath
A bird without wings

And, oh, what a burden to know one’s reflection
To stand naked among wings
Such an imprisonment is knowledge
Such a wheel is the life
Of a bird who can’t sing

But when he flies he needn’t move
And he need not make a sound when he sings,
The bird without wings