With hope found in the weather that
Helped form their green wings
Conjoined like Siamese twins
Umbilical chorded to the fragile life source
That nourishes their beauty
One day clinging fiercely
The next found on the ground beneath
Shaded by their life-giver's trunk now tombstone
After some time they are not surgically separated but
Separated by the dryness breathed on them by the
Brutal heat of change
Brown with age, broken apart as much by nature
As by choice - they fly off haphazardly in all directions
to their own graves in the gutter, planter boxes,
Or twirling between the thumb and forefinger of a daydreamer
fantasizing about having just discovered dismantled angel wings
piled in a heap waiting to be used as a helicopter for blessings.
No comments:
Post a Comment