Feathers
This is where the world drops off,
no longer thinking what to do
or what to say while feeling fine.
We stop at signposts to giving,
knowing how we live is forwards.
They drop shields to brace ourselves
against the coming torrent, the waste
that doesn’t know itself is true.
They throw feathers in the silence,
speak of legends lest they breathe again,
bring it all around in a giant circle,
a wheel calling fortune round the curve.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 9, 2021
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