Wings clap.
Your feathers fall
In twisted courses
Like downy, gold dancers
In the gusty, blue void.
Sweet spring air washes
Over my lips, stained
By your honeyed scent;
An echo, a memory,
An echo of where you
Once roost.
You flutter off
While my squinted eyes
Follow you
Past the creeping
Shadows, your face
Hidden, your back
Dusky against
The half-buried
Sun. Twilit clouds crackle,
The rain patters, and water drips
Down my cheeks
Like icy, acid tears. I wait
As dew drops pile
On the gilded quills
Scattered about my feet. I wait.
Now the stars, a distant
Sapphire, issue from holes
In the sky. They wink
And waver, pity
Painted across their pale
Cheeks. But you
Lay your weary
Wings to rest somewhere
Where the daylight
Still burns, somewhere
Nestled tight
In the arms
Of another.
He Who Wanders 