the first blow came when we were rendered wingless
and so we dream
dream of flight
soaring
riding the slipstream
high above earth
remember the aerial view
five rivers
the fingers of a hand
volcanic hills
concentric cones ridged by trees rocks grass
shaped by water and wind
in nightmares
we plummet
a stone falling
no wing to catch the air
no coloured plume
to float and call sing and drift
Caught my breath on this one Susan.
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