Practicing to be free

I began as a cut hole practicing
to be free. Like a prisoner released
from her cell, captivated
by half-rainbowed refractions
whose lost sight of any landmark
leading to a place beyond these swatches
of saturated light and twisted metal.
I want to become the blue sky, quietly waiting
and watching my own hypnotic reflections
showing me, I am here in these gilded
vibrating moments of diamond pristine
clearness still trying to figure out
if my words belong to me, or not
when, I’m partly somewhere else
enslaved by the moon, making
last minute holes in the fence.