first quadrant of the northern hemisphere

the tips of my bird-bone-fingers graze dense clouds upon ascent
curling the rosemary held between worried lips
expanding the spaces between knots & knuckles
to climb away
back to deep sky
back to the secret firefly
oddly positioned within the white rose cluster of night
rising rising
bracing against the chill of January
feathers full & trembling
ice forming on lashes dipped in ink & mercury
armored in stories of brilliant yellow
to climb away
back to shadow's light
solitary and not
dull and sharp
still and symphonic
shallow and deep
once within it becomes my gentle bones
to climb away
back
home