a nightingale it is not
its big beak
squawking out of tune
saying anything
without thought
it aimlessly bellows
seeing something
from nothing
walking around
the cluttered floor
if only it could fly
balance on branches
flapping its wings
that is the thought
what was that
the idea gone
blank it begins again
with its big beak
squawking out of tune
for a nightingale it is not

-Jennie Nawrocki