wings

she leans on the wind

wearing nothing but august

finding no comfort in clouds

a half full glass

poised in consideration

of times it would have been

the half empty

he sees all of it

the canvas stretched

she giggles

and wild ponies

are inexplicably moved

he mixes paint

still inappropriate

the colors all so

nineteen forty-six

i have been alive

she says in dreams so

long that i’m not real

he mixes the blue

and sees

that she

is correct