Poem 20151128

bright-burning, but not enough
to drive out the night

her bared skin reveals stripes
scars made by other hands

where she was seamed together
assembled by who knows what hands

not mine is all i know

there will be fire yet, oh yes
and there was blood, for certain

and lost feathers from wings refusing
to be broken. freedom and will and safety

one she wants, the other she has
the last a consideration

you may pick two, of course

these crepuscular woods fill
with birdsong and the sound of flight

the ringing of an anvil
delight and tears