The Ether

now that our bodies reveal

truths long buried beneath bone—

i envision an eclipse, prolonged by power,

hidden by force.

engulfs us once again.

once again, we are echoes,

ligaments torn

asunder—

we are victims of the promise of youth,

discoverers of the shredded map.

when the sky fell, time stood still

for only a second

before dwarfing us in magnanimous noise.

we were victors

of an old reality,

but time bleeds us dry, sheds our skin.

soon i am young and old,

lifeless and spirited,

chasing my youth

as it invites me to its home.

the shutters are unfamiliar,

paint cracking where it used to shine,

the old Hickory clipped and stumped—

the chai burnt and black

where it used to be brown.

we lengthen our strides—

maybe one inch further

and we’ll reek of innocence again—

but a bird whose wings are clipped

cannot touch the sky again.

so why can we?