I hoard mirrors, sun lamps, shiny stones,
gold-threaded scarves and colored glass
that reverberates light. These things are not enough.
If I could capture light--the kind that warms
my bones--I would rub it into my skin. I would lace
each eye with it. I would place it in my beak
and crush it till it bursts.
For the complete poem, visit The Licton Springs Review