Of Wings

Heart, the bird,
white, into its tower.
She is beautiful tonight,
a cold, barren star,
her knowledge wild, soil
between her claws. Beneath
the shadows of her perch,
her voice the sound of night
beating in its barrow. Sings
the prayers of birds tirelessly.
Falls asleep dreaming of wing,
of sky, of cloud. Awakes
wrapped in quivering muscle.

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