Written for Ragtag’s Daily Prompt

Watch an army of feathers tuck 
their identities along a wing - asking
who are we that rake the wind?

Perhaps refugees rocked by gunshot
reflexive flight in shovelled air
desperate and involuntary.

Perhaps arrived in purple hues 
and separate for being so; the gust, the trial, 
the turbulence of colour. Immense.

But beating on regardless
perhaps overlapping
and your crosshairs somehow

imbrication; incantation;
the together song of flying

8 thoughts on “Imbrication

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