Dreaming of a Caged Bird’s Death

In a thousand years
after the karma of our sins
has washed deep into the roots
of the Banyen tree,
has been taken up to the highest branches
to blossom unashamed,
opening fully to the warmth of the sun—

it is here
we will listen
to the sweet song
of the bird who warned you
of death and the lessons of Samsara.

This caged bird has so many secrets
chained to her small soul.
This prison of slender golden bars
is no place to hide
from the exchanges of flesh
and whispers of bold desire
that have played on the stage
of my bedcovers.

Though she may have averted her eyes
at the moment of penetration,
the stabbing sound of pleasure
and suffering could not be ignored
by this creature of wings
whose only purpose
was to flutter prettily
with song.

What is this fear you bring to my loving arms now, Siddhartha,
like a child waking from a dream of demons and finding surprise
at the death of a nightingale?

Did you not know this was her fate--
to please you into a sleeping bliss
so that you might awake fully
from this drunken numbness—
to feel more empty
and alive than anyone
you have ever known?

Let me cup the softness
of the gift of her body
in my hands, Siddhartha,
I will place her empty shell
on the rising and the falling
of the breath in your chest,
where the bird must burn
and escape as white as smoke—
her ashes evidence of hope
we all can be transformed
into holy light
in this dream of discovery.

Let me open the door of the cage
and witness your flight
into fragrant flowers.
I will not fail to listen
for your beautiful voice
chanting in peace.