once when i was young, i tattooed
the words of flight on my skin,
in the hope of wings.
the sun hid behind its low dark clouds and i began.
they grew as the leaves changed
- red and green and yellow and i found
the morning mist then in your eyes -
my wax wings were strong and sure,
and i felt the taste of your hands on
my back morning and evening.
i flew then, i did.
the low dark clouds buoyed and hid me,
cloaked me and warmed me and
my voice and yours twisted together
to reflect back upon me.
the nights were cold then and without rain.
i was the wind; the fallen leaves swirled among my wax wings.
and all at once, in the touch of you and the sky,
i knew the eternity, the forever-times of
sea and sky and the forests of redwoods
that had grown about my childhood home.
the infinite world stood as one beneath my wax wings.
the sun cowered behind its low dark clouds
and the moon was black as it turned away.
the sea stood still.
the world breathed and the sun rose, sweeping away its low dark clouds.
i was fallen. i was ruins.
