Let us go out
and catch the last of the light
in our clothes and hair
let its sun-soaked stones
drop into the dark of our eyes
let us pale into the pale grass
let’s mimic the wind
cut ourselves more fingers
by trailing our fingers
through the blonde blades
then disappear as we rise
hands in tatters
fingernails fraying
skin unwound like a bandage
from around our throats
soft-songs becoming sky
Shoals Of Starlings 