Nolan Liebert

All Their Rusted Throats

The birds were frozen
for so long, the sky left
and the sky returned,
hungry for cages —
wires were eaten slowly
away, a hot breath of wind
stuck in the pipe of the sky
like a bone; and the birds
opened all their rusted throats,
animated by a new kind of air.

Nolan Liebert hails from the Black Hills of South Dakota where he lives with his wife and children in a house, not a covered wagon. His work appears or is forthcoming in freeze frame fiction, Zetetic: A Record of Unusual Inquiry, An Alphabet of Embers, and other publications. He can be found editing Pidgeonholes or on Twitter @nliebert.