A line of trees still standing, shattered glass on the pavement, electric lines, balcony railings.
Someone went out after curfew to gather the fallen wings, fold and cover the glistening feathers.
There’s no light along the streets, the night sky cobalt, pungent with fumes. Walking slowly to
avoid attracting attention, each wing tip gently fluttering, the basket too full to keep everyone
hidden.
.
Andrea Moorhead
.
your word always grace
Comment by Jeff Cloves on 20 October, 2025 at 2:54 pmthe pages of International Times
Thank you, Jeff. I appreciate your words.
Comment by Andrea Moorhead on 23 October, 2025 at 12:44 pmDiffusi barbagli d’oro splendono tra le righe.
Comment by Adriano de Luna on 23 October, 2025 at 9:13 pmAdriano de Luna