Maya

Library's caged song was liberated by poem about a bird.
That night I dreamt about
Swan emerging from fire, flames
Like shadows of waving arms of those
Lost to the cause beckoning the indifferent, departing angel
Unwilling to absorb their final dreams.
Maya Angelou,  how she
Understood words
Alone couldn't extinguish
The flames of injustice, she held
A feather from time's wing, multiplied it
To make it divine. Words, action in symbiosis.

Falcon confounds
Falconer through increased scope
As his vision acquires a new
Language. Hoes, scythes, soil, blood.
Pen meets the page. Briefly swan
In flight appeared to carry the moon,
A woman's great insight enabled
Her to create illusion of winds being caged, she foraged to find winters
Cell in prison of ice, refused
To be seduced by synthetic
Sounds of wishing well, dreams
Like coins waiting to manifest,
Maya undressed structures
Of power, compressed a paradigm
To create a key. Ferry tears from
Dream to a cheek, who gazes
From the summit to
Hear the heartbeats of
Those faltering at the start
And the ghosts of
History crashing against time's rocks.
She would be led
By the torch of insurgents lit eyes.