I’ll stand in this bare room, stock still
cold creeping up my toes from the concrete floor
walls breathing, like the silence.
the muddy perspex window is smaller than my eyes
my one good eye
sees cold spring finding a way in
past the graying fences.
If I could fly out of here I’d simply find another
use my one good eye on the swan, the reeds, the dark shore,
cold still creeping up my legs from the mud.
freed from one small box,
straight into another,
just to stand staring at the water.