when you utter
the word bird you put the bird in prison
do not say something that puts
something in its cell
it is thoroughly unfair
to yourself
who bored, in those years,
finds nothing new in another bird
your hands feel the rushing of the water
cool, refreshing, passing,
nothing is held forever
it is, and will always be,
somewhere,
sometime, else-wise,
out there.
RIC S. BASTASA
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/out-there-18/
