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waiting to fly
Monday morning:
this headache with broken wings that flap inside my skull.
Melting snow and downward dog stretching age from bones gone brittle.
Thoughts on loss and gain and loss again.
Wishing to be a tree for a night and the moon for a day.
Spiraling down like a lost flake of snow and landing gently
on a bed of frozen promises.
Melting into tomorrow.
Backlit hope and translucent dream.
Flying closer to the sun.
Winging it.
.
.
.
