Sunday, June 8

Wingbones

I had wings
& hmm they
were clipped
then thrown
& now I ground
the walk on –

staring at
the sky as blue
is best ;
colours bound
in wandering
eyes – I trouble
muddy water

to fear flight-
lessness &
hang my head
in shame, the
white sun I
once held my
wingbones up to.

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