Falling
Prompted by a comment from Martin McCarthy responding to Jonathan Potter's recent poem "I'd Walk on Water."
I stitched a feather to my own skin, not for flight, but for the ache of its absence. If no bird ever flew far on a single wing, then how is it that I have been falling so beautifully all these years?
What a wonderful poem, Paul! You have flown far and well on just a single little thought. I must restack this.
I stitched a feather
to my own skin,
not for flight, but for
the ache of its absence.
If no bird
ever flew far
on a single wing,
then how is it
that I have been falling
so beautifully
all these years?
Thanks to @Lisa Joy 💜🏳️🌈 for the restack