The wing was broken. Snapped, like an October leaf.
Ella’s eyes, rising tides,
Salty water cutting cheeks,
Her fingertips, loving wild things on steady knees,
Summer’s dragonflies.
Mother’s lips, shaping scattered words.
Fingers moved instead.
Softly, smoothing caramel strands,
stuck with sadness. Hot with breaking breaths,
lowered heads.
One left outstretched, broken glass.
Half a journey, half a thing.
Grasping at wind, swooping nets catching air.
Struggling and writhing and shackled,
wasted and living.