Of the Tiniest Feather …

She spins,

Will not

Point at rainbows;

Her balance


With shadows

In the stillness:


Be complete;

Breathe shallow

But well.

The weight

Of the tiniest feather

Was always

The key.


That Make Us Prisoner

Naming the things

That keep us prisoner

Is not enough to

Make us free.

I can scrub up,

Bend my knee,

Pretend the timber

Is worth the tree,

That gold is

 More valuable

Than the sea.


How much does a feather weigh?

Giving up?

Ask the cat,

That threw it away.