porcelain berry to willow we fly
sometimes resting, sometimes turning back
to a branch - a spot that felt yellow
or grey
to hold on
or remember ...
movement brings joy & sky wrapping the dust & despair
like midnight in summer
when there are no stars
movement welcomes the breath & the being of
this day
promised to no one
oak to maple to wire we fly
seeking home
or
what feels most like home
closing eyes to the invisible light
of
the
sun
shaking these feathers free of sorrow
hope lies in the crack of contrast & prayer
sing to me of better days that lie folded in leaves
are we bird or branch?
light or dark?
sun or moon?
perhaps we are sky that holds it all
