By Mike O’Connell
she had no wings
until winds wound her
storing enough energy
to fly her like a kite
like a drone like an aluminum
hummingbird on a mission of her own design clanking
mechanically seeking solitude in shadows of tall trees reflections of candles in broken windows appear to tumble with leaves rustling
just out of sight surrounded by
imaginary owls glinting
constellations in their wise eyes
looking for movement in the
vastness of the night she
perches distracted by chaff
from shredded dreams
falling from searchlit skies
like fireflies burning
for the last time



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