Susan McLaren 

poet, Venezuela

Networking

Caught in the fowler´s net
(a-foul by my own design)
Wing-tips broken,
feathers frayed,
heart heaving.

Each flap and struggle
Only snares the soul further
in the mesh or desire,
the seine of self.

Be quite, bird of the heart,
And listen for the fowler´s voice.

What recourse have we?

Lie still and wait, expectant.
Let his mercy snip the snare.

Arts Dialogue, December 1995, page 13.