Twenty Second Memory

Tiny leaves
Rippling down
Fluttered: my soul.

I felt as though a tide were torn from me.
Left to foment.
A sheath lifted: my skin

Black wings flit across the scene.
I breath in wet swallows
And reach to pluck them: my bearings.

As feathers whispered soft unto my toes
I bowed and wondered at the shadow of a moon
Stretched upon a space so wide: my heart.

Tis true the tendrils of night are swollen
With entrails of light who sullenly tug
At boats bluely sleeping.

Shine on me: my love.