Twisted up and a little soggy,
I start to feel too cramped and caged.
The door splits,
Spilling sunlight,
I uncoil and turn unsteady eyes to the glare.

I push against the gap,
Gentle, gentle, don’t go too fast,
The door smoothly swings,
Gentle, gentle, not too fast.

I’m sticky and hopeful,
Porcelain fine and baffled;
Gentle, gentle, don’t go too fast,
The drying light, the wind,
The smell of evaporating damp;
Gentle, gentle, not too fast.

I stretch, unkink, I ease outwards;
I pulse, I throb:
Dizzy drunk on daylight.

Steady me, one hand between my wings,
As they unwrinkle, foil-thin and cellophane-crackle;
(Gentle, gentle,)
Hungry, empty, dry and winged:
Naked in the light,
I begin.