The Finch

sweet is the life in the growing field
sweet in the bud and the tree
sweetness flows as the water
through chalice and form
the same but for shadow as me
saying the days have been wasted
is like describing dirt’s edges as worn
though some speak of what’s pure
as corrupted
and describe what is whole as what’s torn
I’ve been told that I’m gifted a garden
that was painted in umbra for me
but I’ve unwrapped the finch
from its burlap cage
and shadows can’t mar
what is free