Forgotten Wings

On my way to the attic

for another look at

treasure I keep there

in a dented metal box—

a segment of severed wire,

a spinning top fallen from grace,

a gilded ticket stub to a masquerade,

a folded photograph of a girl in love with someone else—

On the way I am stopped

at the narrow stairs

suddenly

unable to fit

in the passage

I’ve climbed again

and again,

steps worn smooth

as Cathedral stone.

Mourning my loss

I turn to see

forgotten wings

unfurled

from my shoulders

fanned

upward, upward

shaken loose

in my sleep,

too bright now for

memory and dust.