Between near darkness
and light through bars,
she stands
neither free nor captive.

Tears fall,
slow, unbroken,
from something shifting within.

Before they reach the ground,
they gather in her hands
then take shape:

a white bird,
born of what broke her.

She lets it go.

Behind her,
light remains
faint, but enough.

Flowers stand around her
remnants of what is gone,
and will not return.

In the stillness,
something breathes

not release,
just a beginning
through pain.