Clipped Wings

After the sun bleeds colors into the sky white stars are scattered like diamonds thrown across the violet black. The night seeps into edge of morning and a thread of light spills like churned buttery cream. Mottled pink is brushed against linen clouds, inking the faded shades of night. Wires are strung above their houses, their tops frosted slate. The snow, burning, is like the artic methane on Pluto. Ripples of opaque crystal are created by solar winds. On which glass white shines, a tin hued surface like plastic sewn on egg-white costume dresses, gems under strobelights on stage, dancing. Wings, dust colored; soft like the thick darkness receding into the brewed, aeged morning. Beating.