You fiddle with the catch

between my legs until my mouth

springs open and I am

crowing like an everyday bird that has

entered the heights of an aviary. I am

scaling the bars, wide-

spreading my common or garden

fan while your beady eye hangs

over my body. My voice goes

flying in our feathered bed from

your forefinger and thumb, my next cry

rests on the tip of your tongue.