When sparks go flying,
When raptors fall with injured wings,
When little girls reach out beyond the frame to crows and ravens, singing;
a chirp and caw of destiny evermore,
the flutter of black wings.
Oh friend I shall be leaving
But not forgetting why
I came to this place —
Reminded of the beak and claw,
The fierce report, the open sky;
the lovely child in my arms
How caged we seem
to birds that cannot fly.
© Arielle Emmett 2015