quill to paper,
body to floor,
let me lie here,
broken wings and woe.
tender and drowsy,
because I did evade,
broken fragments of my flight,
exist for all to see,
velvety and narrow.
losing height,
the flux was only ever fleeting.
with the new,
life is thickening;
not in weight,
but in richness.
richness gifted through the possibility
- of an empty space,
a place to feel the quiet cracks,
a place to fill the corners warm.
here I trace and lay out the shape of a nest:
the place where I will mend,
and from which I’ll fly again,
in a time yet to be named.
words for
@phoebebalinska @maispace.101 @evenseven.47 
