IV

An aviary, observatory, and place of revelry above the Adriatic, upon exotic shores.
I am certain and sure of serenity as I patrol
the top part of the rampart,
watching down to where the dock starts
as ships and serpents exit to the sea.
Sparrow turns to me, and I mention:
"Sing you wistful odes of wishful liberation
and contention of your caged sedation?"
His face contorts, and he reports:
"Nay, sentry: I opt not for sedition. I partake in civilization
and your nationalism nation, and, in my current condition,
also hold a pretentious position in the natural matriarchy of nature.
My flock-brothers flock to berries, but I have found wine,
and when the citizens whine of taxes and tariffs,
my tact tells me to flap and fly
to the whims of the wind and the way the air lifts wing.
I hold a pact with the wild and the mild,
the caterpillar and the city--
have no pity for me, sentry. My century is not over."
The bird picks the lock of its cage with its beak
and drops from the peak-- like Icarus--
into the sunset, sea, and beach.