5 June 2017
Broken-winged, a bird I found,
panicking upon the ground.
I stooped to lift it from the land:
it nestled in my open hand.
A matchstick splint with cotton tied,
a canary cage to rest inside.
With healing done, an open door:
my yellow bird will fly no more.
I take a pencil, draw a tree,
my bird begins to sing for me.
I erase the cage bars, one by one,
paint a lion’s mane of sun.
Now yellow bird sits in his tree,
and sings all day, to inspire me.
Comment: I split the original post into two segments. The first, 5.1.1 is the poem Yellow Bird and the voice recording. The second, numbered Kingsbrae 4.3 Encaustic, contains the summary of the first evening’s artistic discussion.