We dance our bodies into air,
our shapes morphing into a colourless idea in the sky.
they want us dead today, possibly, this night
their gavel pounding on the water we beg a still life from.
they know that this art of dancing kills faster than protests
so when we waltz like a night bird struck in the rain
like a prisoner of ball & chain
they kill the pianists that jives us
they do not know that we carry
guitar cases of anger underbelly
do not know that subdued sobs sound like music, too.
at night, after shape shifting into birds as did our fathers, we fly over borders of countries
we cannot pronounce
we forget the ghosts of our blood
& take new masks—oxygen masks.