maybe the place you’ve been stabbed in the
back is where the wings begin to sprout.
maybe we are the same one hundred people
returning to earth again and again until the
truth comes out: who we really are, what we
are here to do, how the sun is a dual entity:
for life-energy and for fire. if god can feel
wrath and jealousy, what hope have we?
multiples recycling through this planet,
spending lifetimes growing wings,
swimming through the dark glass
mumbling thank you and please.