Flying

You board a soundless tornado
Spawned by the storm you're withholding
A second disguised as an hour
When will the outcome unravel?

How wide do your feathers unfold?
Would you fly? Could you land?
Would your shoulders hold?

White noise trees
Can't hear
Open windows
Stay

You get up from the furrow, outlined by the decided
A meter disguised as a light year
Will you have someone to unveil?

How wide do your feathers unfold?
Would you fly? Could you land?
Would your shoulders hold?