Exhalation, an outward breath

to lift feathers pendant, overhead –

decoration natural to webs cloyed

with dreams.  She breathes,

still half in, half out of sleep unsweet.

Her brain awakens into thought,

eyes admiring the framed bird,

sketch birthed before her life, yet

of meaning now beyond coincidence.

She sighs.  Everything sign,

sign of something large, and strange,

concept wide enough to range across

in times of pause, moments

uninterrupted: now.

Her eyes catch sight of dawn’s light

fast approaching and her mind wakes

fully, thoughts take flight, soaring up

to meet the sun coming in

from Eastern lands, where they say

dreams ever hold some meaning, portent,

of what’s to come – just so,

her winged thinking glides through air,

buoyed by plumage mental, brilliant

(coloured, she imagines, in all shades

of aura, too).  She smiles

at the conceived hues:

for what cause should she be blue?

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