Notes About The Poem
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FAITH AND FEATHERS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some days it's a smooth stone
in my pocket,
certain and worn~
my fingers finding its edges
in the darkness.
Other days it is a match struck
against the wind—
a brief, defiant light
before the gust takes it.
Sometimes it is the silence
between two hands
not quite touching,
the space humming
with the ghosts of prayers
that never found their words.
And once, just once,
it was the hollow of a bird’s wing
cupping the air beneath it,
holding nothing,
holding everything,
as the sky rushed in.
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