Quietly,
your shoulders lose their feathers
& arms not meant for flapping
will ache & curl around yourself.

So let your peaches & cream
spill across a sky
towards which you'll never soar,
but nonetheless
preen your feathers,
disgruntled angel,
'till the moon restores your twisted frame.

Softly
blur your memories,
into a vague & pearly orb
to roll between your hands & sigh,
& say:
"It wasn't like this at all, before."

So touch the walls
with fingers yearning
for sterling light
& jet-dust space;
So dance
Like one who's never flown,
& curse the dawn & fear the night.