wing
trying to wing her way back
through the dirty air of the harbor
tired, her plumage ruffled and stained
from her brush with the world
her eyes, tears of dirt,
still she'll push on, piercing the sky,
silhouette wings angled graceful
the last remains of resolve; 
wordless, she deserves something better
than telling her tale could have done...
Jon Bohrn (1999)

 

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