Sketches

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Craftshop

To make feathers, Icarus
Takes the glass of accident—

car windows, what the fly ball
made of an upstairs room,
a brandy snifter, mirrors,
that aging skylight, some
crystal wedding gifts

—etches all the words
His breath has lifted
Into a frost. On every facet,
In each shallow of design,
Light rests, telling stories.

It is a frost any morning
Could melt. The hieroglyphs,
Over each and every feather,
Already singing this to the wind.

Originally published in The Muse, 2010.

Apex

How to believe in yourself
when you are afraid of the sky:

(in the chicken yard, birds
move from seed to seed,
not thinking at all of how
or what they are…

wings
gathered around their walking
(the walls of a coffin latent
before a soul’s journey)

moving from seed to seed,
day to day, no concern

heavenward)

When you are at the apex,
that part between effort

and failure, don’t go looking for food,
breathe, breathe deeply, glide,

try, try to glide.

Originally published, in The Muse, 2011.

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