Lark ascending

This morning I woke up with wings.
A pair of downy white,
Bejewelled with glossy feathers
I ran my hand over the spine.
The long sinuous curve
From the base of my shoulders to the tips of the fingers.
Each feather splayed out in elegant perfection
Fringed at the base with cotton wool like filaments.
My own.
They unfurled as I stood wonderingly from my bead,
Rippling each one with a life of its own.
The window before me,
The hard stone beneath me,
The latch,
The stiff unwilling catch,
I jump, and take my chances with the swift.
To sink or swim, fall or fly.

This morning I woke up with wings
I flew.