Slivers of breath sent her plans clattering through to
that place
where nothing ever mattered but now.

How did the light dim?

Where did her angels go?
Dancing on pins,
deep , where secrets whisper,
they move through the crack in her everything.
Light against dark –
tracing paths to summon themselves.
Nothing works like it used to.

When she walks, feathers fall from her feet.

She laughs.

~bw 22

Day Ten — off prompt. This one came after I tried to construct a cento from some of my older poems. While pieces of other poems are present, this is not what I expected to write. Like so many poems, it became itself.