A dream

We buried gravity and took flight.
There was no need for constellations,
we just travelled for travel’s sake,
wandering on a drift of air
until we dropped altitude.

When feet touched rocks
our wings reduced to shoulder blades.
Feathers fell away.
Skin grew so soft and pink.

From bone and muscle
came a surge of hands.
Your tenderness held me
inside a long, soft ache
and when we thought of a word
we spoke it.

‘Fire,’ you whispered.

And a small light was struck before us,
it tilted all on its own in the vast darkness.

‘Water,’ I said.

And a stream met our new feet.
We dived in and became fishes.

Libby Hart

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