With the grace of a train whistle,
he blew through
my station.
There was no schedule.
I never left the platform.
My dreams of flight
drifted on smoke
far, far away.
Feeling cramped, chilly,
and a little bit small,
moving mindlessly
away from traffic
until peering out the windshield,
I see a bird
soaring despite rain.
I envy a lack of decision
when instinct takes hold
and flight becomes imperative.
Flight-like
It was like being part
of a pair of birds,
one of two,
mated,
matching glide for glide
along cool currents
in a blazing sky.
It was quiet
like a breath
that sounds giant
only in your own ears.
Unseen
Hunting down a tune
through halls not quite dark,
but long and narrow-
like walking into a straw-
anyone could see
I was bared
looking for melodious moonlight
There was no harmony of touch,
only a soft drumming
like maybe my blood
wanting to move
toward freedom
From harpy to siren
After a shimmy
(or three)
and a scream
into a blazing sunset,
she broke something
within-
something that held her
in check
for too long.
She found a song
falling from her lips;
it was woven
of raptors and prey,
cracked shells,
clouds and wind.
The Word Rummager 