You were the saint of lost things, patron of my art
I dream of wings.
White wings. Black.
Whispers of wings.
Shhhhh.
What does it mean?
Shhhhh.
That is all you can ever say, my love, my only?
I can't remember how we first met.
Tell me again.
In college. A writing class.
You were the star.
Always falling, falling, falling?
I remember a lake. Mist rising.
Or a foggy memory.
And my sisters.
Shhhhh. You have no sisters.
I wish I could fly.
Doesn't everyone?
I don't remember who I am.
No one knows who they are.
In the morning after you are gone
I listen for…
I listen for…
I listen. The world has a heartbeat.
from Wings by Kim Antieau