They float sometimes
like bubbles fizzing
at the top of a frozen
stemmed glass;
like air pockets bouncing
from my toes
after the gush of water
pours from the faucet
striking them
to cover me
with red, sweet whispers,
smoothing, intoxicating;
then fall
so casually
like steam
trailing down air-tight windows.
We are like birds
you flying high, so high
above me.
My dove-lite wings, here
a planet below your eagle feathers
fight to flap, to fly.
My toes dig my earth-nest
while my body stretches,
my back arches
and when I look up
I see you there,
your face glowing
in your star, high
above my night,
my day
moving fast, fast
spinning, spinning.
My feather-litetoes
dance this sandy earth,
dance its dark nights,
dance its star nights.
I spread my wings,
my expanding, long wings,
and I fly. Fly.
I flap my arms like they are wings.
Salt waves swish around my waist.
My waist is as small, as tight
as a swan's neck,
yet wet, clean, white as a deep-sea
pearl.
I swish my glittering finned tail,
green in the deep among sea moss
growing
with fishes swimming in and out of my air castles
reflect in the green of me.
