Taking Flight

I was the compass,
star fingers pointing
to five different roads.

I was the slip road
you missed
staring into the sun.

I was the sun
bedding down on my own
over some other sea.

I was the arc
carried over the waves
on the fair trade winds.

I was the breath
of the south wind waiting
to blow out the past.

While you were the baby,
The broken egg,
The bridge burnt down.

First published in "Lost Things"    by EmmasAtticPublishing . Available  from Etsy or Amazon

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