sit up with me

and become the language of the crows

we’ll build a fort made of echoing warning calls

and glistening charcoal wingtips

 

when it gets so late there are no stars left to guide you

that’s when you’ll feel it

the rumbling, like a chorus of closed dreaming eyes twitching

coming from the root of your spine

and busting upward in every direction and at every speed

you’ll disintegrate

you’ll pixelate

 

we’ll move towards each other as sound waves might

relentlessly decaying into chaotic soundlessness

and together we’ll reach that equilibrium we call silence

and perch high atop the hopes we carry inside ourselves

joyful in our rest, in

the canopy’s cradle

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