The Arrows of Flight

A woman does not take to the nest to remain poised in distracted stillness. She goes to make a home in the knowledge that Love develops barren spaces through the reproductive sounds of freedom not only in her kiss but in her determination to build in clouds, confident in the prosperity of progeny, and the resplendence of flight, even when she’s broken her wings.

May arrows meet only upon the stillness of our rising fires, and may the feathers that guide their entry keep us balanced above the smoke clouds, that all who know our flames be guided to play Love’s music with similar hands, that in weakness, aimed only to play for heaven.

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