Birds fly by me,
Each wing flapping,
Feathers pushing through the morning sky,
The cool air flows,
Swirls through the smog and the 8 am sounds.
Shimmering black bird wings move up and down,
A current of call and response,
Through clouds and drifts of fog,
Causing a rejoinder in my blood,
A beating in my cunt,
A throbbing of morning light,
Of bird flight and swoop,
The air inside me and outside me,
I now have wings to fly.
Avery Cassell 