What fledging, what flapping,
what flurrying of outstretched feathers
germinate in this airless room.

Its opaque walls betray
no evidence of the kingdom within.

Knocking yields a muffled silence. Touch:
it’s smooth like limestone. Break:
it slips between your fingers. Eat:
it glows for an hour.

There’s a planet in there,
an atmosphere of protein,
a sun without heat. Keep it

and it will explode.

Volcanoes in the ocean betray
no eruptions, winds of water
conceal their evolvings.

This ship in a bottle
won’t survive the seas.

Its crystalline structure
is made to shatter. What angel
or animal is waiting to crack,

what thunder
or theater,

god or gosling?