Whether I open my mouth and
doves fly out
or broken beetles,
black as
ink,
whether you hear it as a
song or as a
woe
as a cage being open &
40 wings flying out

I'll open my mouth and let it out
and you'll be there to listen,
or to cry,
and I'll finally be able to tell you
show you
the animals
that stir in me

you can watch them fly by-
be haunted by their
blur
or you can slow yourself
pace yourself
hear yourself
watching a telltale herd

Whether you take it as a song
or as a woe
at least the corral will be
unleashed and
you will finally
know.