Rough Draft

Below What Once Were Wings

We walked together
in the maze of that graying city
Two solitudes with pen and paper wings
and our perceiving
It was October then
the earth groaned outside the walls
And we stood with open arms
beneath the golden grove’s unleaving

Like rain the leaves fell
and our anguished lips sought flight
But the city streets at dusk
led only to dead end alleys
We were confined and tired
scarlet stains upon our chests
Our conversations like gauze
around our nights out in the valley

These inward bending wings
closing in upon us
once stretched wide across
and nailed at each end
Clinging to that ancient spine
like wood upon our backs
they fall like dying seeds
and we, like birds, ascend

There were others wandering the coil
who found us by chance
And stopped to listen, pushing our
bruises till we flinched in song
When the applause died, you
revealed to me the feathers on your back
When I’d discovered mine
we knew our waiting wasn’t long

That night in November we lifted
above the puzzled city’s lights
Amidst the glorious ocean air
the divine view, the intoxicating thrill
I looked up to see you falling
into the blue sea below
And weeping, flew on
carrying your wings as do I still

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