wishbone (escapril)

the romans began the tradition of breaking things: bones, countries.

a rooster crows at the break of dawn,

announcing the sun, calling the spirits of the dead.

the hens only crow with the arrival of the egg: birth, creation.

the grain on the icy ground spells out the future

but they pay no mind to the hens' scratchings.

in the beginning, my bones were revered;

they held energy, released energy,

they were molded in the shape of all life.

they laid in the sun, drying, for seven days.

they revealed the seven ways we experience the world

seven senses, seven days, seven ways.

with my link to the world without fire broken, i am unable to fly.