A memory of the forest, held in suspension, Not a flight of wings, but a light’s dimension. I gathered the spirit of the tropical green, And cast every feather in a glass-like sheen.
 
Each plume is a ripple, an emerald refrain, Preserving the pulse of the jungle rain. In the silence of resin, the bird finds its voice— A structural beauty, a deliberate choice.
 
It isn't just color; it’s a shift in the air, A sculptural echo of a life once there. From the deep forest canopy to the valley of glass, I’ve anchored the moment so it never will pass.