And for those who like to read the liner notes, there’s more below the cut.
I dreamed the kiss of moth wings on my cheek
and woke to find a pair against my back,
each one an inch above my shoulderblade,
each one as soft as breath against my skin.
I stood. The tips reached almost to my waist.
I felt a strength beneath their velvet touch.
I felt a little strange next morning as
I dressed before the mirror in my room
and watched their pattern shifting in the light,
and watched them with my head turned as I flexed
and spread them out as wide as they would go,
then tucked them back to run along my spine,
then tucked them in my shirt to hold them close
beneath my clothes. I kept them to myself
all day at work, a secret from the world.
All day at work I felt them there, their warmth.
They trembled in their hiding-place as soft
As moonlight, curving snug against my back.
As moonlight filters through the evening air
some instinct makes them strain against my shirt
Insisting that I take myself outside
Insisting that I spread them wide apart,
Stand naked to the waist in evening air,
Embrace the gentle pulling of the moon,
Embrace the wind, the night and all the stars,
Stand tiptoe as my wings begin to stir
Not lifting me, but lightening my step.
Not lifting me, but strong enough to make
me stand a little taller than I would,
enough to give my back a straighter line,
enough to make the shadow that I cast
look like the man that I would like to be:
a man with wings beneath a cloudless sky.
Tune in next week for another poem. Same po-time, same po-channel.)