“There are names for what Binds us”

Wings make us bound to what we love

so that we keep the labour of flying  

in a desperate moment–a jocular force that opposes us.


Each sunrise, each hour,

every moment, sifting the jericho grasslands

reaching far above our halos

hip replacements, surgical connectors, heart transplants

the woven patterns that only silkworms eat through 

breaking down the filth

fading with the twilight 

the nests that welcome our drowsy eyelids

command them to close

these dreams, unconscious names for what binds us.


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