In Flight

In Flight

gliding in gilded grace

a terrain that traces back to all that was ever known,

in Truth and Trust…

I have my pen in hand

and hear myself calling on Kings

who lead in grounded glory,

amongst each other

in swords of swollen language

You,

fertile in force,

armed in anthropomorphic ancestry,

in flight,

shifting atmospheres

and pressure points that project in parallel

Again, in dark water

lungs fully expressed,

I met you where we last were lost,

submersion into slowness

and ocean tides turning knots

never meant to be broken

Ages of amber

and all that is offered

positioned in the infrathin,

the space between

petrichor and petrification,

all that is known,

in Truth and Trust.

I have my pen in hand

and hear myself called to divine creation,

to Mother and Father,

to rise to the sun,

to slip amongst jagged edges,

to lick the wound of words unspoken,

and to salivate and savor

the sword from which he slays.