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We Gather and Fall


There is a sandstorm in her veins scouring the colour from her skin, and wings grace her back. She will card feathers through your eyes and break them into one splendid day. A day when you were small enough to fit under your father’s arm, tall enough to reach the lowest branch on your favourite tree, bright enough to see the hills under fallen summer stars.

She will plant your summer, your fall, with brushstrokes across your back. Your pinfeathers will fledge a day threaded by the smell of apples, pears. Lush with joy and as light as the hollow of a bird’s bones.

There is salt beneath her nails, Tesla coils in her eyes. Currents ruffle her fingers. She will embrace your memory of water and you will bow together, waiting for the snow.