Who decides where the edge of the world lies? 

I teeter on a newly found edge, feather numb, 
the knife-sharp bite encourages the plummet 
that I was never really intending to take 
until the edge began to crumble… 

Forced to fly with faded, luminescent wings 
the arc of my trajectory a bit too steep,
my breath becoming flames that burn the veils 
as atrophied wings catch a wistful sigh from the earth.

I will hide my dreams within the pattern woven 
by the beat of a dusty heart that frantically applauds 
as I try to climb the stairs to the sun. 



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