You knew, youth, and life too, a spark, defuses slowly into lewd bones, downy, gossamer-dross feathers drifting lost on a thoughtless breeze. Splayed on a June garden afternoon, thronged about by blood of kin, flapping about nothing, soaring, seeking flight to azure skies and thermals, twitchy claps and cracks mellowed by approaching dusk and exquisite consanguinity. Years there are of squabbles flippant, roosting love and fussing, flaps and switches, turbulence behind the carapace of leaves- then subdued by moonlight and stealthy foxes skulking, or steely hawks, spying high past noon, scoring a patient circle; we launch and clap, sky swooping, caught up in our joy, brought down by worn puissance, a mourning leaf, dew evaporated, an untethered flap or two, ended noiselessly by predation.
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