Open Cage
To forget what has happened is a sacrament, an access
of power: the furor of these bronze leaves helpless to surround
a shrieking
ball of birdsong
gathered underneath towering
cauldrons of gold.
For nothing do you grieve. They twitter, the sound
careening like curraghs on unnavigable water. Nothing.
Clamor. The wind dies down. Memory
gone
visibly burning in the gold sea of the air,
cinders drifting on the black gold of the ground.
by Stephanie Strickland
from her new book Zone: Zero published by Ahsahta Press (2008)
Art by Alice via her blog Fly Like A Kitefish
Robin Reagler 
Robin, this picture is great. I used this image to write a poem postcard. Here’s what came out.
Birdsong
Abbreviate the fluctuations of her throat;
Erected birdsong flutters upon her tongue.
Delineation is sussed out on the third note.
Naughty cicisbeo forgotten, she sung.
Yearn spurred her voice to connote
Nostalgia as her last song was sprung.