Out of the briar tangle
I felt your loose needle
Bone between my finger
And my thumb, the bag
Of fur, the skitter of wings.

My grip adjusted, hemmed
You in, fast in my fist.
I saw the supersonic squeal
Of your mouth; a tissue
Creature unpulsing all
Other vital signs, cold
As winter in my grip.

My arm extends,
Fingers flex like petals,
Sudden to the moon.
I watch you loop
And circle freedom,
Alive and winging it.

Nigel McLoughlin

If you've any comments on this poem, Nigel McLoughlin would be pleased to hear from you.