Wings

It must be nice, to have wings that can,
With the finite science of muscular pedagogy,
Achieve delicate aviation at will

Blinded by the finitude of invincibility
What that would do to a man

Where Sacramento becomes Humboldt Boulevard
They perched, with resonance,
At the brink of the pockmarked concrete retaining wall
Both of them in it together

To feel that dive,
Translucent in that moment where it all
Becomes something from nothing,
A microscopic big bang that a few lucky ones
Feel deep in some unnamed tissue

To throw it all away, to know it intimately, the way
We remember not knowing
Our grandmothers, persistent mysteries, white and
Subdued, taped down around the edges

To let it slough off like a full
Set of sunburnt skin, all at once, the cast-iron
Stove full of memories and shame shaken loose

By the wind that is only an illusion, stillness
Animated by this brief combustion

And then: in an instant, with only a flick of an arm,
So return to normal
Alight once again on the wall
Back to square one, and look at one another

Light as a feather, those making their way
To the unmoving sea

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