Torn pages

I toss my limbs into the wind
‘Cause I am made of torn pages
And all the thoughts I cannot find
Glide into the ground

I can’t see what comes for me
But I can feel the vibrations
In my bones is all I know
The distance and the doubt

I close my eyes and fantasize
That I’m the crux of creation
Deep inside my fortress mind
A creature wears a crown

I dare to try escape the sky
Captured by constellations
In my arms are dying stars
Afraid of coming down

I hide my dreams in tapestries
The fabric hung in tight spaces
I speak to birds with woven words
A nestling makes a sound

I hold my writing to the light
A gentle illumination
Long awaits the warm embrace
Of corners turning brown