infant fairy-muse
born of summer’s death
and autumn’s emergence
her wings are dry. cold.
dead water-blood lies useless in her veins
asa breeze cups her paper skeleton
and brushes her away

red flutter, swimming spins-
she’s been freed from the tree branch!
to dance in the wind!
but look-how she shakes
(so it seems, out of fear.)
with nothing to cling to, she may just
drift…

away.