Not A Bird

I pasted feathers on my back
so I could fly back if I got lost
surely I could find home
from way up high
Wandering broken roads
swept up in seas of
identical grey
concrete had come undone.
Home I told my arms
raised them high above me
a crown of brown and gold
and avian charm.
I went up, smiling
thinking of the Kentucky cold
and the corner bar

but my wings cast shadows below
hid from me what they
were intended to find—can you
lose something that’s
already gone?

I came down to a new broken road
more grey
and heavy wings
bearing down on the ground

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