It is in the night that I find myself.

My body bathed
In the pearlescent glow of midnight,
My subconscious
Daring me to dream.

The moments are fleeting.
The images wane as the moon does,
But I see them just the same:

The goldfinch resting nearby,
Thistle clutched in his claws--
I long for his simplicity. 

He has never wished 
For the exquisite elegance
Of a white chest and crown,
Flaxen and coal-dipped, 
Wings rising
Light on his back--
God’s subtle invitation 
To roam where he pleases… 

And he embraces this challenge.
Wind whips against his fragile frame
As he flies through skeleton trees  
And the thick veil of darkness.

He is the embodiment of freedom. 

And so I wake up wishing
I was a goldfinch.