Feather Lungs - Laura Gibson

Late when the night has swollen

And the edge of the sky is bruised

I’ll wonder if the scene is cast

By accident or by design

We will leave our feather lungs as nameless as when we arrived

Every breath and belly laugh will teach us how to die again

Each calloused hand and fingertip is a kite-string to a morning hour

Where light will fancy you a friend and greet you with a wink and nod

Every breath and belly laugh will teach us how to die alone

For light will pull her curtains closed and whisper every parting word

Late when the night has swollen

And the edge of the sky is bruised

Marching with a flag in hand

We’ll be sending up our final flares