Heights

Our sky is the same. Unchanged. Unchanging.
Our wings are the same. Untamed. Untamable.
Our heartbeat sounds the same. Only unheard, unhearable.
We’re circling. Same aerial place, but different heights.

Not enough to turn our stare down and up: our eyes
are blind, blinded by our blinding
same irresistible lights.
We would not see what’s just inside

every single teardrop dripping from our luminous cries.

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Tags:

poetry and storm birds