Cris de Borja

I wanted wings, but for more than to fly:
To feel the growing of their folded weight
Close-pressed against my body while I lie
Enchambered in a still, suspended state

Spinning deep dreams like a cocoon silk thread;
Then when I wake, to stretch their wonderous span
With caution as I crawl out of my bed
And, drying, flutter like a painted fan

My colors with a slow, sensual sweep;
To bask under the sun’s lingering kiss,
To let the air caress away my sleep;
Beyond the wish to fly, I wanted this;

To show someone the breadth of my feelings
Given their freedom in the form of wings.

10/6/2005