This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Duke chapter.
Today I read the sky falling asleep
surface of the wing on fire
This must be all there is:
a mark of something more than to be
A languor, photosynthesis in the sun
lone shape of a photon on the tongue,
smoke billowing into an afterthought
because all wind means is letting go
If every morning means the scent of airport deluxe
if every sound is harsh like walnut skin
If every ascent means crashing eventually
if clarifying means remove the eternal
I am gold
I stay here
I fly on these red wings
If a step towards you
means a step away from freedom
The taste acrylic
The taste a fuse
If a symphonic cry is all there is
a soul inside the body
Call it diurnal rhythms
the plane being stung