Chest Feather - Nov. 2, 2025

as if afloat with an innocence

new to the grasp of gravity, a piece of

plumage greets me on a quiet morning

slowly, like in a dream, this tiny tuft

from a bird falls, towards a place much

harder and crueler than itself

I turn away from this tuft-sized

fluff of optimism before it hits

the ground, hoping its soft purity

imprints something beautiful in me

after all, my heart like every other,

has never heard of “Sir Isaac Newton”

and whatever it is he discovered