The Pattern of Your Wings
Sweet child,
Infant cased in shredded feathers
bestowed with tarnished skin
In this moment, you are healed
--did you know that this was coming?
The fragments of yourself that
caught the biting wind are sealed,
Holy wax cascades across exposed bone,
merges with congealing sinew,
and the ribbons of your flesh bind
forming mandalas of glass and gold
Your colors catch the eager sun
(it has been waiting for you)
and flood the grasses
Their shimmer sets a call
and the rush of wings sources a vision,
leaving windswept feathers
floating
in your stained glass light
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