and the essence of knowing
all that should be seen
becomes easier:
but I can let slip certain surprises
tied to marrow and sinews
that stretch my diaphragm.
striated muscle layers
whoosh past valves and push on
to the thrum and thump of life.
waiting to hear
the rustle of magpies,
sparrows collect against
ribs; wing tips scratch at my door,
they coo and coo- saying
open; unfold now
go on and race; spin
and dive,
do not waste seconds
or minutes.
O' botheration of nuances
that makes me a woman,
loses body positive thoughts,
in my head I am somewhere
other than on the outside
under this thickness of skin,
there is still a girl,waiting
to escape
one day
with the birds, bees
and things that sing
inside this book of days.
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
We always wait, don't we? Even when we say we are done 
Those little birds are relentless in their hope and desire for better days to add to the book.
