and fate touched it, flying.

Please, turn and centre with the stars. It’s an illusion,

you’re not falling, you’re not dying.

Listen, the ground doesn’t want to take you.

​

I want to

place a gilded crown of vine upon your

head, let it twist around your spine.

Lock into you, cushion the fall. Freeze.

 

The light you were trying to reach, it speckles you.

Does it laugh? Mourn? It cannot cry.

Align a moment, feel the loss.

I do.

 

Residue on your wings, it seeps down.

Heart up, eyes closed – not far now.

I dread the dull thud

of your release.

 

Tears fall one by one,

such dutiful soldiers.

People avert their own eyes in respect

and I fall apart.

​

​

​

Back to BoundBy: Spring '24 (Edition #08)