The heartland of the hidden faces in
That unearthly color. Was it so strange?
A slight hint of orange? Their skin matched by
Pale yellowed people of sepia photographs?
In those days of smoking flights, Delta trips
In your lungs. Gravity pulled together
Only two. Again, the command pouring
Through windows. Packed in their own acts of creation.
She looked happier with her hair pulled back,
Tied back to her silvered silhouette of
White water floating in on whispering
Clouds of mourning, sending bodily vibrations.
Placing events in time, you begin to
Wonder if it really happened. It was
The movement, flapping wings and sparrow’s breath.
To create a narrative. Feel the pain. The loss.