Never Landing

Never Landing

She smells the song of honeysuckle scent, ephemeral licks.

Against dawn, sunset, and solar eclipse

hiding in the thicket and thatch.

She hears

the sound of a sparrow shuffling 

its blood flush with memory

of intensified sky.

She says, “I’m thinking

of. the. spin. of stars as I walk on

the crust of rotating earth.

Chill pricks near

the tall windowsill 

filling cream. curtains. containing. clouds.

She sees 

fractures of

moon light

reflecting hanging haze.

With cord to her leg she jumps head first, 

ricocheting wildly around

— a caked scrim of adrenaline laces her veins. 

dangling

exposed and