Monday, August 1, 2016

come with me ...

we scramble most days
to attach our wings of weighted feathers:
glistening violet under the sun
not awake, not yet asleep
but
somewhere in-between
dazed by days unremarkable
dumbstruck by the outline of the others rich & carouseled
how we stand in the in-between with love & grace is the test
how we shoulder those warrior feathers
in spite of
because of
tempest & frost
wind, welter & stillness
hush little baby don't you cry 
we rise
most days to vastness
to find our solace in midnight's
iridescence

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