Yellow bird inside an empty body
Thrashing up against the bones
Becoming bruised like tender fruit
Its carrier wondering about its strange migration route
How exhausted it must be from heavy miles
How it must be melting off its honey colors
And hushing to an antique gold
Poor dull creature,
Tossing back and forth,
Deafening itself with snaps and cries
Realizing something, as if highly intelligent
That it’s better to be hunted than haunted
Yellow bird, poor creature
Bursts like a fist against the ribs
Litters the body with its feathers.