Unfinished flight.

I wonder what it would be like to have
wings - would they grow from this grief?
Would they expand at each exhale
and help me defy gravity?

Would they lift me to a new
understanding? Of me and you and us?
Even though we are nothing more than
hard soil, unable to house any seeds.

Would you look up, if I flew above you?
Or would you bury your head
in the wasteland I left behind.