Last Wish

A melancholy poem

the waters beneath are shining in a thousand colors
but here, the skies are grey
and the wind blows chill.
this junkyard of dreams,
this withering era of leftover hopes.

A wish of growing wings
I make out of the cast-offs of imperious blue jays
assembled day by day
sewn together with the sea’s own tangled hair
tasting of salty water tears

by the light of a million stars
from the hand-away songs
of Apollo’s own lyre
I will weave this dream
of flying into the sun’s waiting embrace
melting into a glory far greater than any left

and the vaulting sky will bear witness
to my last fiery conflagration of faith
this flash of blue against gold
and the moon will weep her tears of silver
for such a child.