Silence, then the throb of pulse on stone: stifled pangs vibrate through bars. Pacing paws go round and round: echoes come but no one stirs. Jet and amber flying lizards and their wings above the cell: how they love their music-making, stringing notes from wall to wall. Midnight shadows chase the moon, brand a stave with stripes of ink. Muffled drum-beats sound in vain: quavers pelt a dappled flank. Stars retreat while ticking rhythms rise from song sheets for the dawn. Lizards fill their scales with freedom while a tiger hunkers down.
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