Twenty Nine. Patchwork Wings.

In the deep of that red winter wood

where love lost and serendipitous moments meet

on the highest edge of the farthest branch of the tallest tree

I’ll find you there

searching for sun searching for seed

a mystery of species full of wonder, full of thought, full of quandary

all that is in you, all that is for you, little one, little sparrow.

In the deep chest of that bronze casing

where open wounds and alchemic remedy meet

There’s a song in those lungs, melodic notes, true but ever tried

crippled and skeptical with feet planted and feet unsure

too uncertain to make a gesture to make a move to ever take flight

full of fear, full of weight, full of distrust, full of short sight

all in you, all over you, little one, little sparrow.

But I wish not to compare, to stare, or ever to ensnare

but only to see, to just be, to release

and to  f r e e 

all thats in you, for all of you, little one, little sparrow.

So with no cages nor games no performance or show

This invitation is without pretense of bright color or a certain kind of feather

this is a simple affinity for patchwork wings and the hard stories that hold them together

full of hope, full of chance, full of whimsy

all for whats in you, all for whats of you, little one, little sparrow.

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