Now on wings

What time of day carried

dim light, pulling back the gray

out over

a chaotic field of

birds

those on the line or

those crowding the street

different enough

inside the same pattern,

rejoin the flock

careful, now, again,

feel something inside lift

no need for hands anymore,

whispers and feathers and

traces of whoever is emerging.

Oh impossible now

on wings, drenched in memory. 

No need to see a thing

though it was all clear,

hit the ground

aching to be ahead of time.