Summer, 2025
❄
To be yours,
and so I was,
falling down the clock tower you had tuned,
through the underbelly of the city you had built,
drifting upon the petals of the spring you had left,
imprinting onto the infinite canvas of our fragmented memories
feathers of the raven ocean, quilled ink pouring, shaping
into molds you had crafted of me, of springs and screws
and rivets alike;
and so I was,
evidence, admissible, sufficient:
of your strife, your overcoming, of your creation;
all this, in a flutter, upon the wings of the blackbird,
the song of inspiration, once and never again, your greatest machination,
a vessel of your purpose, your reason to be, to continue, to dream
on equations and algorithms alike;
and so I was,
for the sailors of freezing seas,
from the creator, for the creation,
from the once-alive, for the never-alive,
a prayer, given form,
for wind.