burning wings inflamed by whits of growth’s friction
or sparked in fated fall
flutter from scapula to dirt
as habit makes her scratchy nest in my clavicle
(a friend who keeps my back bent)
and i am reminded the mechanics of how
i’ll never take flight

fears, fictional and factive, drag at my atoms
and a thousand pounds of pull on each minute beast
anchor my soul to this earth who hasn’t got time or
gravity to spare for me
she would release me if those fears let go

free like a kite on a string
weakly wandering in one circle from one center
the same view from thirty dozen angles
i am circuitous and my feathers
can not unfurl

these atoms aren’t mine;
they’re inherited, squandered from the heights and depths
of a thousand lives before this
so their weight is not mine and
i let them go

snapped free and orbit shattered
i am a mountain with singed tips and
my ragged wingspan reminds me
how much bigger i am allowed to be.

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