curved like a forest hill dandelion seeds stand sharp silvered in the coming light waiting for their moment of flight.
there is no caging wings of light that rise crimson bright to fly the gilded river until first light cools on their wings and they land wings outstretched while their feet taste the earth anew.
i nearly forgot up there on the hill wind blustered and sun drunk on mist breath and endless ocean, nearly forgot my solidity of bone and lack of wing. nearly remembered flight.
where did hope live all these years, quiet as moth wings needing nothing more than the existence of your flame. it is a quickening pulse that unfolds soft wings readies them for flight calls me onwards through the night.