Feather Lungs

Late when the night has swollen
And the edge of the sky is bruised
I'll wonder if the scene is cast
By accident or by design

We will leave our feather lungs as nameless as when we arrived
Every breath and belly laugh will teach us how to die again
Each calloused hand and fingertip is a kite-string to a morning hour
Where light will fancy you a friend and greet you with a wink and nod
Every breath and belly laugh will teach us how to die alone
For light will pull her curtains closed and whisper every parting word

Late when the night has swollen
And the edge of the sky is bruised
Marching with a flag in hand
We'll be sending up our final flares