Wings - Field Report

Hollow as a bird bone in a broken wing

Weighted to the earth with nothing left to sing

Just rasping for your mother, coughing up gravel

Waiting on a brother who was cleared for travel

South

Get these rocks out of my mouth

The air begins to change like the

Current over the wings of a Dreamliner

Over the sea

The captain, he was up all night

Talking with the ghosts and

Singing with the angels til they

Touched his lips with coals

Cauterized

Get these rocks out of my mouth

Soaring close to God until his

Love melts my wings and the

Emptiness

Of space

Smells like paraffin and gasoline and

Color coded cash and coins

The currency of dreams

I’m all out of money babe

It’s as dire as it seems

Get these rocks out of my mouth