Back To You

Hair surge, low swoop—

so those of us

stuck here on earth

know—you should be divine beings.

Or on the other hand companions of divine beings,

conceded shots

to push off into sky,

allowed shots

to hear so well

your own particular voice skiped

back to you

maps the night.

Each pivot

in your wing's

a demonstration of creation.

Every creepy crawly

you snick out of air

a witness.

You change

obstructions

into sounds,

at that point avoid them.