THAT
WE ARE
By: Hilary Fox
we
wear wings-
tattered, stained, torn
blood-marked, fanned
like our hands spread
wide, embracing
peace, liberty, love
surrender
standing in hatch ways.
we wear wings-
broken, bent, ravaged
whiteness gone to gray
and shading down to black
yet they still stretch skyward,
seeking light, heat, safety
surrender
playing in music
we wear wings-
molting, failing, quill-weak
angels gone slumming and
dancing with mortals but
still remembering heaven,
remembering war, death, bloodshed
surrender
burning with victory
I never marked them once.
never gave them time or truth in me
beyond the moment of fire and ice
when life became death and so did I-
when I became both things-
but with you I see them-
I mark them one by one;
I engrave them in me.
With you I
see these things
or their possibilities
marked on our days-
as they once were not marked in hearts
or at least not in mine
but I know the belief in yours;
for there is no seeing
no hearing
nothing with you-
it is because it is:
I am that I am-
the Lord said that
to Israel once
upon a Sunday.
And that is what I have learned with you,
us two together:
not to see,
but to inevitably
become-
we are that we are.
we have wings.
