like ash on silk, you enter
the holding bridge at every angle
until it fits
until one folds
but you can't stand condescending

not a dove, never that
too patterned to believe
through the eyes of he who grieves
and she that wants to believe

At dusk, you vanish
not flown, but folded,
carefully tuckedd away into heaven
like a curse whispered backwards
restless and reflected

through your eyes man sees
but through your eyes every promise seems to swirl
tears only seen in weather
every heartbreak was for the better

I called you once
You answered with static,
left a feather on my tongue
and called it; poetic