subtly against

I have this against the world,
one white bird,
cut in the indigo sky, changing,
banking left and write in
the wind that feels
nothing.

One white bird,
an avian denominator, coming
forth between then and here
to steer straight
into the sun
and burn.

Cut in the indigo sky,
changing the music of planes,
a body of feathers and heat,
illuminate foam and passion,
all stretched between the
white wings.

Banking left and writing
a story of thousand flights
from what is seen into truth,
from myth into that reality
that carries the name
of God.

The wind that feels
how the clouds change their pace
racing toward snowstorms
like birds locked in battle, reckless
to win or to lose,
fighting.

Nothing.
In the wind that feels
Cut in the indigo sky,
Against the world, changing
Writing, banking left,
One white bird.

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