Night glides over the white wings,
settling down from the sky.
Arrival in a familiar place awash with memory.
Come and gone,
return pulls tendrils from squishy matter,
lays them out before me
lights in the pitch, great expanse whispering,
tugging my sleeve.
There is a hill,
and a home,
a tricycle and bad accident,
fluffy morning pancakes,
play dough,
summer sun stretching for years.