to sleep, to dream

Oh, to sleep to dream
of completion, 
genesis ascending
from each clavicle.

The beginning of flight.

Towering two feet above my crown
and one foot above the ground,
my spirit would no longer suffer
the torture of good versus evil.

They would be glorious, my wings.

Perhaps, they will serve
to thaw my frame when I become chilled,
meld into arms when I am lonely,
and turn, quick and sharp
if crossed, to smite one
who did not respect their beauty.

Oh, to sleep to dream
within the room of my son.
I collect his feathers,
delicately lain across his nightstand.
Plumed obsidian, magnificent.
As that of a raven.

We picked them together, planning to create a headdress
 
yet now,
I place them upon his back
heeding the fate of Icarus',
and stand sentinel, mesmerized
by his sprouts of tufted down.

And before dawn,
we search for a willow tree
to nest in, perhaps -
away from the bloodstains
and stench of the city.

Our hands clasped
as we take flight.

Together.


© Susan Marie