Hovering Briefly on the Wings of Glory

a ragged fury of wind 

shreds the last vestige of

daylight 

summoning

the pall of winter night 

calling forth crows to cloak

the sky  

with wings draped in mourning crape

dense and desiccated

as smokers’ lungs

they suck the

last sip of light

bleeding the day dry

empty 

as despair


until

a whisper, 

soft as paper-winged moths 

quickens the air

a supple heartbeat of light

emerging 

lobed and limbed 

growing plump and rosy 

dawn’s cherub-cheeked warmth

blooms on hunched shoulders

hearts flower

full.


briefly wonder is nascent.


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Thanks for writing!
Jacqueline