Neck arched, head to the Heavens, eyes to the sky, arms outstretched,
ready to fly,
The rattle that had been the death of the last breath climbing
Up the sturdy thighs
Through the curve of the pelvis
Rolling thunder
The small of her back
Up a slightly crooked spine
So divine
Tingling in between
Her shoulder blades
Out to the tips of her wings
Roundtrip into her breast bone
Gathering the speed of sound
In her throat,
A pure note
The rapture of the strong
Life everlasting
Never to falter
Never to fail
Set sail
Across the Moon-glow
And everything
They think they know
Is nothing
In the wake of the sound

Of the song.

Teri Skultety, 2009

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