that grey morning sky
when the sun was bloodshot
behind a hospital sheet
of clouds over the top
of the williamsburg bridge,
dragging my bike down
the stairs and out to sea,
i paddle up stream
up south fifth street.
i feel you stir in bed
one block away,
your blankets toss aside
and wings unfurl inside
the birdcage of my ribs.
i am flying now
out from under the summer's
humid weight, cutting
a swath through cars and trucks
falling in and out of love,
making a b-line back to life.
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