divided flight

Feather's clipped, wide open in their disguise you sense the puzzle that ensues. To fit in flight is a thing of space and grace, to collapse divided by touch is truth. This sudden weight - this heaviness of being connected.

Still.

This hill of beaks and breast.

Who would of thought that sharply as you flew you knew the echos from the frowning sky would land you in perfect breathlessness; at the top the lightest, to somersalt into the mouth of the base which is just about to open - isn't it?

It will if you want it to.

Oh the heaviness of being one.