Feathery Constellations

We wanted aviation.

Desired the swift winds

under our feet,

the leap of flight

-into the unknown,

the wild blues.

We could have always been

birds, our souls beating loudly.

Propellers off this planet.

Our souls could have always been

balsa wood aeroplanes.

Our hands to poorly construct 

our own escapes over the edges

of the cliffs.

Our hearts fluttering madly,

wings beating and drowning 

out the swift calling of the skies.

We could have reached our arms 

up in anticipation, beautiful

glorious- tasted the ozone

and given ourselves

over to the cosmos.

We have always desired

for celestial bodies.

I want to fly up,

splatter as a dazzling constellation

on the ceiling of the world,

glittering my bird soul-feathers

across the azure.

We desire aviation always-

connectivity to the 

cold and unearthly which harbors 

our depths

of self and soul.

The skies which stir up

sanctuary.