My Childhood, With Wings

If I close my eyes
I can catch a fleeting glimpse
Of bright feathers darting past

The spots they leave behind
I cannot blink away
They color every recollection
Memories slipping in and out of place and time
A broken kaleidoscope
I cannot help but turn
Looking for the stories I have lost
And the ones I will change, with and without intent

My wings beat so fast then,
One stroke, one hour, one day blurring
Into the next
Always searching
Pausing only to sip the nectar,
Sweet sustenance of daydreams and hope

My heart hammered so frantically then,
An inconstant drum,
Always seeking the rhythm
I could embrace as my own

And now
And now . . .

Such a chancy thing, eyes shut,
To snatch that bird
To hold it fluttering against the cupped palms of my worn hands,
Light as forgotten praise
Fragile as a dandelion crown

Such a delicate operation
To cut out that palpitating core,
No bigger than a summer seed
To keep it alive
Long enough to wonder

If it still has the strength
To quicken the blood in these veins
And stir the dreams
Of my slow and steady heart