Cage
A Story of Confinement and Miracle
It is black, cracked. Solid. Its bars wrought and sappy with mold and sweat and all other forms of human disposal.
I am hung above the ground, swinging in the sweet breezes off the Ebro and the whimpers and prayers from grown men pleading to Allah. My head aches.
As my heart melts I slide between the bars. Head first I drip into the grout below, running as a river of human substance along, then out the aged walls. I come to rest and pool in a hoof print in the clay. I solidify and walk purposefully toward the water, lured by sweetness. My love, I am finally coming home.
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