who plucked the hands
from the face of the clock
like wings from off the back
of the helpless fly
just to say I could
but when they fell
like ashes that
could not go back
I learned the price
of impulse without
the understanding
and tried in frustration
to put the mark
to time again
with the ticking of the heart
when all the spirit wanted
was a place to live
outside the confines
of laws wrote to this world
to make me a girl
with sight to see
transcendent of the days
gone by
yet I's too scared to scatter
the human perceptions
to the wind
for fear I might forget
where I had been
and where I've yet to be
but when the tears
fell past my cheeks
lamenting what was lost
imprisoned in the box
of finite cells on calendars
all locked into the day
they touched the pile of ash
of what was plucked
and on the floor
and reawakened
the fragile of the broken hands
to wings of dragonflies
that spiralled through the dream
to take the music of the heart
to flutter in your chest
with promises that time is freed
not from the careless whims
of a child set to discover
how far it is that she could go
but from the woman
who gives these
moments wings
and lets what love will be
alone so it may learn to fly
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