Taking stock of the situation
Those wings batter against closed windows
the winter is calm and kind to the air
the trees take their toll on this age
swaying as they do under clouds of desire
We met under the tree
and spoke of the calmness of nature
watched as a humming bird caught a bee
in the swift clench of its magic bill
We flew into the cloud
soaring like ink dissolving in calm water
the air was kind to our skins
preventing the acid rain from hitting us
Over the ridge we arrived at the siren of dawn
the brief odour of pollen tricked us into landing
on a branch and flowers advertise their grinding hips
the promise of a heady infusion
Language serves in the formation of image
but when we speak so many it is just greetings and formality
those details like if and when are hard to examine
left to the sparks of imagination
Common tongue becomes too familiar across a table
ingrained with the oils of a thousand elbows
draining pints of amber rescue
against the normality of each humble life
Spread your wings and fly
Speak out loud each fibre of strain
leap over the edge and soar
these winds buffer and lift