Rabbit and Rose
Oh tender spots,
Sore ribs meeting
aching blades
Her handsense
Lands where
Wings once were
Suspended as a pair of retired
Ballet slippers
Wings hang like musty air
Thick and still
In that attic spine of memory...
Hang from a rusty hook
Heft of feathers gray as
Ballet slipper ribbons
Frayed and worn
Wings, whisper-filled vestiges
Long to beat their legato score
Tracing movements
sweeping, stirring, shooing. . .
Dust off your dreams.