To fly in my dreams – 
I felt like a plane; 
my fingertips caught pieces 
of the wind, my whole body 
lifted by the ache of leaving.

My feet forgot the ground, 
wings cut through clouds like 
truth through lies; my eyes shut, 
yet I saw everything – the pulse 
of direction, and the taste of sky.
Goosebumps rising like warning 
lights, from an engine burning 
_faith for fuel._

Then the fall – 
sudden, violent, real.
A flash, a scream, a crack – the dream 
quickly split open like glass on breath.
I woke in the wreckage, a cold sweat 
for rain, still hearing my wings trying 
to hold me.