A bird and her feather fall under the
intense flow of the stars and
together they fly-
side by side, plunging into the darkness-that-never-seems-to-end.

Though, they're only a mile below the surface, already,
no words in between, and
together they sigh-
a raven's tears or a feather's flight. Perhaps both.

The flame that resides in this bird's eye can consume,
and steal away the soul that feather never seemed to have, and
together they lie-
to one another and to themselves.

Free-fallers through this sky that never knew such
pain and confusion, so
together they cry,
in the absence of one another, not truly away.

That feather would steal that bird's heart,
a beautiful pain in the loss of perfection, then
together, they die,
fly and fall no more.

These two loves of the free-falling moment,
they are no longer the bird and the feather,
but the bird is now, again, just the bird,
and the feather, he is again, just the feather.