when you utter
the word bird you put the bird in prison

do not say something that puts
something in its cell

it is thoroughly unfair
to yourself

who bored, in those years,
finds nothing new in another bird

your hands feel the rushing of the water
cool, refreshing, passing,

nothing is held forever
it is, and will always be,

somewhere,
sometime, else-wise,
out there.

RIC S. BASTASA

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/out-there-18/