Capistrano Calls

My heart is a swallow
that at times
flies free

It flits from here to there
and glides on tiny wings
pearching now
singing now
to no one in particular

Most often it sits
contentedly in a gilded cage
with wings trimmed neat
looking at me with
darting eyes
that say more than they see

But every now and then
I lift the door
and let it fly
to unknown trees
with leaves
I don't quite recognize

It tries
to perch in places
that feel like home
and finds comfort
of a sort
that's really no comfort
at all

and the older I get
the more I wonder
at the wisdom
of letting my heart fly free.