Is frantic, wild.áIt jars me from sleep -
from a night of half-dreams - a bird,
trapped this side of the window.
She throws herself against the light,
blood on the glass, her heart, an arrow.
I think I will never catch such a fighter,
but she is tired. My hand closes over her.
The window gives way with a push;
then she surprises, launching herself
from my open palm.