that's mrs. mediocrity to you

i watch the sound of you
make shapes in the enemy of sky
and you shift change until I lose
the voice behind your words

this earth is cold and grey
and i stand motionless
as you scream
your quavering dance
through a wind
filled with knives and
stinging nettles

your flight is the map
of all things living
and i raise my arms

briefly

thinking perhaps i could
cut in
learn to waltz
or at least

follow

but I am no angel and
you have black wings

i have fingers and toes
and this listening heart

and we both know

this is always and never

even as you land
on the corner of my shadow

pecking code and
marking melodies

neither one of us
is free

I’ll take deep shadows

and the light that causes them

over the blank-faced wall

of forgettable grey

any day.

.

.