How will the bones of the future
look, fanned out against the sky?
Sometimes a school of wings
rises in my chest, the air there
filled suddenly with movement
and volume, a sharp iridescence
of flight instigated by feelings
of ardor or longing, or that
particular sadness which comes
of not knowing— I can only move
like one leaf in a body of leaves,
like one thing borne on a current.
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