Page 42 - WTP XII #3

35
Fledgling
Did you fall, little bird? Birth’s fragility:
such a waste,
so much life brought about to expend.
What does it cost an angel
to descend—
is it a light thing, then, this passage? Are souls dealt out
like a child throwing pebbles,
a playful toss, crowing: “Again!”
Do they fall like gravity?
Taken as into water?
Or is this wrench the same
on the soul as on the mother
who wins and then loses
such a universe—
an abandon, forsaking
all that came before
to know however briefly
a magnitude.
naila MoReiRa