Before people had wings time crawled on boneless legs,
mere waterdrops on rocks,
and people watched through windows,
mist veiling sight,
and still they looked.
Even full-grown my wings misplace easily,
a birthright o so elusive,
still - such a pellucid stew of feathers,
deigned by Daedalus,
built for breathtaking and blinding velocity.
Opaqueness is true beauty
and today my head's just not in it,
staggering around a fog-shroud of head-ghosts
looking for my winged self
to find my way up.
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