A cardinal alights and a berry stem billows,
he sails down and pushes up to a tree
with his little black mask on.
He whistles a few times,
Here I am, sweet day!
It is the morning,
I am sailing down to perilous infinity
or delicious insanity,
or a branch of perfidy.
My feathers are ruffled
by want and not wind.
I let go, I rise,
on delicate wings,
in the air of the mind
where I cannot stay long,
bound by what cannot remain
in the presence of day
supplicated in song.
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