the carapace of an angel

the carapace of an angel 

I wait like a bird waits for Spring.

I wait for wings not made of ice or steel.

Ones that can carry me on the four winds.

I wait like a tree in Winter,

waiting to come alive with leaves and flowers.

Like a Cicada, that goes into suspended animation,

and re-awakens every seventeen years.

Like a caterpillar waiting for the next phase in it's existence.

Like a body desperate to shed it'self.

My body is a rock that holds me down.

My heart is a river that flows out.

I wait for wings.

I wait to taste the breath of Heaven on my lips.