The bird
who is not a bird
but has mosaic feathers
dipped in tar
this bird
who is neither oil nor waterproof
and then
licked by white fire
lent by God or fishermen
some happen-chance salvation of sorts
this bird
rises as phoenican ships will be
swallowed momentarily by
cresting waves the size of
bursts with light only matched
by a lifting of spirit into cloud
casting her netted permanance
against rush and churn
of life fighting with itself
this bird
who now possesses compass and ink
soars in oxygen and silence
this bird
who spent years
fearing how
instinctively breaks through
the barrier of herself