The wings, in late sun's theft and judgement
june 2025

our ruins are the wings above a valley for forgetting
spreading out with setting warmth on our momentary walls
when we're stone or wraith beside the shimmering bones exposed
when half-vanished with the earth we hear the distant song
the joyful sound we reach toward from our snare of rattling thieves
our ruins are the wings in the aching quiet of a clearing