When Growing

I’ve seen your wings: all bright
and flightly. They

whisper against the same southbound wind
my mother warmed me through. So

I’ve found some distance to collapse:
some rippled shards of gust

to trace back. The cathedral of bare bones
jutting from me sprout

a single feather for each blink
you appear from. My mimicked strokes

beat the air tirelessly:
first to leave this clutch of sticks,

then to climb such a preposterous
height : to carry us so far

up that we can spend the rest
of our days falling without fear

of ever touching the ground.

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