Panther

Her vision, from the constant passing of bars,
Has grown so weary that it cannot hold,
anything else.

It seems to her that there are,
a thousand bars; and behind those bars...no world.

As she paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of her powerful strides,
is like a ritual dance around a center,
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils,
lifts, quietly - an image enters in.
rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart - and is gone.