the shape of wings
on being ethereal and earthbound
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THE SHAPE OF WINGS Inside me lives a bird so fine sometimes I fear they must surely be dead, crushed by my despairing. Today though I soar at the touch of wingtips tickling my edges, both of us expanding and contracting in harmony, my back bowed shoulder blades spread ready, hoping they won't take flight without me. Some of us spend our whole liv…
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