[audioplayer file=”https://admin.rattle.com/audio/WellsWater.mp3″]
The sky sank, again. It turned the water heavy, slow
going for a narrow leg, nothing but bone. Wings
once seemed possible but hidden now, no
way to bloom as a plunder of feathers, wings
to catch light, explode and powerfully row
upward. Nothing spoke, so sky sank, again. Wings
became merely what someone heard, a cool flow
of sails, banners, wind, freedom, such wings
as those who dream once rode beneath so
easily as shadow skims the water. Such wings
rise, their smooth primordial glide below
a seam of sky to open it, if any remembered, wings
unraveling in blue to blend with air and know
no boundary. No one moved much anymore. Wings
became a breath. Someone thought, once, to show
how it was, a buoyancy of wings,
or name what you will. Hope, maybe, or the low
whistle in dreams as they ascend. Such wings.