Under the Tent

There is a touch
of wing
to shoulder
in the mist
of ravines
filled with stars
and the freedom
of flight
that night brings - 

Then I am 
with you
dancing in the 
green fields
dressed in 
our finest greens
under the white
of tents filled
with lovers
and children
a wedding of
joy
we only partook of
in the shimmering
past
when we had forgotten
the feathers
we were born with
forgotten the touch
of wing to sky - 

In the length of
a breath
in the sigh
of a life
our wings
reduced to
ashes
in the wind.