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[Finally, there is only flight]
Finally, there is only flight
to love us, the thin-membraned
relish of air. We use thumb claw
to tear at moonscrap and star
glow, hoist it back into the dark,
to light the diadem of fungi
on her brow, we are the leathery
tongue for the mouth of night.
Hemera gave her voice to the hollow-
boned, the feathered who always need
the earth, its mud & stick with
which to make their homes.
But Nix could never part
with us, we sleep beneath her
outstretched arms. Say what
you want about the world, love
every green thing in the dull-
lighted day. Every mother leaves
her thumbprint at our middles,
on this we unspindle,
and seem to fly away.
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