The poet says, Speak, and the clouds
offer only a slowly moving silence.
But I poke a hole in the silence
big enough for just a single
word: Surrender. A simple request
to be sure, easier said than lived.
Yet that is exactly what I seek.
To know her lips on my scars,
the fragrance of her hair, to feel
her slim waist beneath my hand.
All of this is surrender on my part,
giving up the sense that anything
not this makes sense. She dreamed
my dark wings wrapped around her body
and I swear it was me, my wings,
my black feathery self comforting
her in the dream's truth. Each of us
surrendering to a voice flowing
in our blood, a cellular knowing
that this time the clouds are wise.
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