Behind the walls, the light
cuts out. Not even stars,
not moonlight stab within.
Here in this valley, hills choke
the breeze, the grass is grey,
the black crows shiny, feathered.
For me the hardship is memory,
of open fields, curvature of sky,
the ocean endless to the sight
lures the mind to free itself.
And so my thoughts escape the cage;
how good it is, how like salvation
breaking through the cracks.