The plume which speaks your language

The Plume which speaks your language by AL-Logaha Hand

the plume picks up its pidgeon feathers
makes a mate of meeting other small birds
heading north for the winter
preferring the chill of stillness
smiling and fluttering before a preferred audience
singing for surveys of mountain passes
I need to cry
to stick to treating happiness with a piece of my mind
to write out of sight
i need to think out of space undefined
out of sight from the wind’s sweet curtain
to remind myself of other worlds before time split in half
with flying trucks and cars
flying carpets too
squeaking as if wheels were turning that mountain view of you
I am stuck laughing with myself
to make faces in the sand
to throw dirt like a free child
in order to apply justice
by making my plume less a bird and more a mime

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