Wings

Shackled by gravity, his ankles bruised
in purple, as crimson clouded the skies.
That night he dreamt – an albatross soaring,
gliding for days, and in its focused pupils,
a tiny diamond flickering against the shine.
Dawn drew navy and wine, his deltoids, triceps drunk
off ecstasy and hope, for that precious gem
he would search heaven and hell, even his father
could not strangle his daydream. He flapped,
shouted and soared higher, he thought
the altitude promised better view. Soon
there will just be feathers, and the quiet
of the fall.