Young worrisome sparrow, caged bird,
you are not trapped where you stash your woes.
Jittery robin, find rest.
Lay your battered head upon my omnipresent breast,
and make it your nest.
This beating heart that whispers your name swears that "It shall never rain here."
Maybe this rhyme, this lyricized innuendo
dedicated to the pain you choose to drink down into your guts,
will open a window.
Will shatter your crystal prison, your glass coffin.
I do hope that coffin has not become your mind,
For the worms in your head look like caterpillars to me,
and I can see butterflies in your eyes.
No other insect, parasite,
could even pretend that they see moths.