Feather

I watch the sky,

listen for you in the wind,

shake out my hair, open my shirt,

let rain have its way.

Shy clouds cover their eyes.

I pick up a pleasurable stone,

one you might choose to skip;

suck April from it,

taste distant fault lines,

hold it in the roof of my mouth.

I find a lone feather,

think how it floated down,

like a sleek ghost

from something wild, airborne.

Looks right in my hair.

I wait for light to change,

this stubborn season to end,

for a massive earthquake

to come to my assistance.

tk/April 2014 

Delicious read by R.A.D. Stainforth... 

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