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Poems

Flying?

Fingers curled around icy cold chains 

wind whipping across your face 

screams echoing

echoing

echoing

Fingers slowly release 

r e a c h i n g outward— 

now it’s the wind that’s screaming 

until a voice asks 

what if the chains break and then it’s not wind it’s just

you falling 

falling 

falling? 

Your fingers tighten.