They tied her wrists up
they tied her ankles up
they trussed her wholeness up
damning she be left unmoved
 
She sang a song
untied
and went on singing
a song
none of them could
ever locked up,
 
Her nightly song
came along
with the singing of the wind
it turned out to be,
 
A picture unseen
visibility unseen from their overseeing screens,
a shade uncaught
a shadow unbegotten while well-harkened
in that burning night,
 
The nightly song
was
the singing of her wind
blowing in the night
going its own way
thrusting all shields aside,
 
The reeling tremolo they ranked
unbearable
stood for a song no fence
no thorny wire
no buzzing doorway
no yawning gate dared stop
or clutch
and their winkless windows remained
those futile boulders and ridiculous dams
unlikely to go any further
than just delay the enfolding process
of the singing of her wind
fit for claw-free roamers
and the blowing would grow harder at night
to catch up the delay
healing the wounds, cooing the pain down
and soothing the throes
their snarling uselessness brought about
to the all of us