my chair

the small curly white ones,
feathers dusting the air
like enlightened artists from an
underground movement,
played colorfully in their coop

and cooed.

in that same way i was welcomed
onto a chair in front of a mirror
where no date was etched on the
hard glass.

and sitting by the flower,

i reached out to their wired cage and
found the door handle easy to open.

the birds saw the mirror, too, but somehow
were not distracted and soon
took flight.

in their motion, a freedom my chair could not know.