We gather, in twos and threes.
In twos.
Like birds with broken wings.
In ones.
Quiet in discomfort, lost
to sky.
Thoughts are clouds, reason not
to see.
Silent
or intermittent twitter-chat.
Bursts
of brighter hopes—one day …
One day
‘when my wing is mended’
when
released, as new shall fly.
We shall fly, alone, in twos.
Free
from hurts. On skyroads, unbound—
not too
hurt to conquer cloud hills. Imagine
the one
with wings gathering, lifting us
high.
But now
feathered in lost loves, flocked
in one
shared understanding. Like birds
in twos
shuffling for a sunrise, twittering
in trees
gathered. With broken wings.
2012 © Andie Davidson
Back-story to this: Birds of a feather
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