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apogee
apogee
above the serrated ridges, where snow gathers in deep, gloomy hollows and clouds drag their bruised bellies over the treeline, there is a creature with wings carved from calcified lightning and salt
her body is the hue of a starved winter sun, the brittle, brassy glare that spills where morning first splits the peaks– teach my bones how to leave how to open my hands to what they cannot keep
her mane moves like a river upended by wind, frayed silver at the edges, thick as frost-rime, soft as the thin veil of mist that gathers over blind valleys before dawn
when she runs, the mountains seem to unspool beneath her her hooves touch stone only long enough to strike a spark of frost, then she is airborne, rising through the cold where swallows turn and the highest eagles disappear into the pale grit of sky
her wings stretch wide enough to swallow the gorge, feather upon feather, layered in sheets of sheared ice, each one catching a violet sheen of pearl when the fading sun strikes them
i keep looking up from the valley floor, where the damp roots hold me fast, watching the girl who knows how to break free– some things are only ever lent to the sky
sometimes she passes through the rain and emerges glistening, droplets trembling along her neck like shattered quartz tangled in her hair, heavy with the cold ruin of storms
sometimes she dissolves entirely into the clouds until nothing remains but a phantom, a silent, dark fracture dragging across the snowfields
and when she emerges again, the sky swallows the sound– leaving only the brittle chill, and the heavy thrum of her wings, and the long sweep of her spine
i watch until my eyes burn– asking the wind to sever my tether too, learning what it means to love something just as she unlearns the ground.
from down here, where frost hardens the earth, my bare hands still holding the memory of her warmth, i watch her cut through the bleeding amber, her wings drenched in the last raw glare of the world she is leaving for good.
apogee
high above the jagged mountain tops, where snow collects in dark, deep hollows and clouds drag their heavy bodies over the trees, there is a being with wings made from hardened lightning and salt
her body is the color of a hungry winter sun, the fragile, shiny glare that spills where morning first breaks the peaks– teach my bones how to depart how to open my hands to what they cannot hold
her mane flows like a river turned upside down by wind, tattered silver at the edges, thick like frost, soft like the thin layer of mist that gathers over unseen valleys before dawn
when she runs, the mountains seem to unravel beneath her her hooves touch the ground only briefly to create a spark of frost, then she is flying, rising through the cold where swallows turn and the highest eagles vanish into the pale sky
her wings stretch wide enough to engulf the gorge, feather upon feather, layered in sheets of cut ice, each one catching a purple sheen of pearl when the setting sun strikes them
I keep looking up from the valley floor, where the damp roots hold me tightly, watching the girl who knows how to escape– some things are only ever borrowed from the sky
sometimes she moves through the rain and comes out shining, droplets trembling on her neck like broken quartz tangled in her hair, heavy with the cold destruction of storms
sometimes she completely vanishes into the clouds until nothing is left but a ghost, a silent, dark tear dragging across the snowfields
and when she appears again, the sky absorbs the sound– leaving only the cold chill, and the heavy beat of her wings, and the long curve of her back
I watch until my eyes burn– asking the wind to cut my ties too, learning what it means to love something just as she forgets the ground.
from down here, where frost hardens the earth, my bare hands still holding the memory of her warmth, I watch her slice through the bleeding amber, her wings soaked in the last raw light of the world she is leaving forever.