down

i found you resting
in bubbles
having surfaced
in the shape
of

succulents
covered in thorns



and i asked one last time
if the line i had drawn
made space
for my ship
as i drank

and with its
assimilation
came a tap:









'miss, you've dropped a feather,'
he said while reaching over my shoulder.


'they follow me. thank you,' i reply





'maybe you grow them, miss?'



and with the arrival of my wing
and my foresight
i placed the remnant
deep into my pocket

knowing
i
had
been
found