The day that bird disappeared, it could not recall how to fly.
It began in the coastal air as the sun coyly dipped behind a tapestry of pastel-laced fog.
Bird had grown weary of the sky, embittered by its brothers’ obstinacy.
Beckoned by the scent of salt, it dove with ostensible conviction.
With buckled dexterity and its intentions amiss, bird faltered.
Its wings—they were petrified, unyielding, reflective of the birch tree
upon whose cradling branches bird was born.
The sea grew closer, its imposing maw slyly ushering bird into the spurious gulf below.
Though it leapt to begin anew, the lure of purgation proved fatal.
Swallowed by the churning waves, bird staggered and writhed—
With hasty resolve, constriction abound, what had it sought?
As it tried to breach, bird plummeted deeper.
Then, bird noticed its stillness, and, for a moment,
While peering out through a lustrous, kaleidoscopic prison,
Bird lamented the sky and its familiar unornamented vastness.
