I rode those cotton-candy clouds
so gently home to soul;
And those who traveled with me
flew beak-closed to the wound.
They laced my skin with sutures strong,
and some were blue-gray-brown.
When darkness hailed, we cut a path
through skies both tall and narrow:
Frail apart, now joined as one,
in wing, and bone, and marrow.
On December 3, 2012
Poem/Photos: Kay Weeks