earth hums rust low
a slow bloom under our feet
leaning light stands
where the gray starts to tear
quiet peeks out
like a mouse from the wall
plume eye blinks blue
one, two, many shy sapphires
feather asks sky
how many blues can fit here?
slide, split, spiral
each curl a held breath
five little beads
crimson, indigo, old brass
we are the loom
but the loom is also us
cracks sing tiny
the only honest music
wire inside hums
tight as a clothesline in wind
i feel it hum
against the drum of my ribs
language too soft
for ears, only for skin
we strum the hush
sky yawns, lets the note go
last feather falls
a sigh lighter than paper
tail becomes wind
brushing the empty ground
ash, echo, gone
we melt back into morning
peacock is air
only the quiet remains
