Your hand signed the waiver that fell from the tower
Taxed fingers cramped with quills upon a sloped hill.

The darkest soil smells of legendary riddles,
deeper than anything still, never seen by outside eyes.

Id rather write to you on days like this,
from dawn to dusk scattering freedom in willow whispers.

Infinity placed upon elbows,
for years the lines were tattooed against aged skin.

Childhood conversations,
rare moments
remembering what flying was.

Grounded by memories,
bones pull skin across the settling of this harnessed appetite.