Each filament a shaft of light,
An interlocking burst of sun,
A fugue which twists and weaves through space,
A mass of radiated song.
The barbs are pointed beams of force,
Are concentrated shards of time.
The wing tips touch and spark with stars.
The secondaries flux and flow.
A planet’s mass should drag it down,
Should crush it to its heartless core:
Impossible the flick of flight,
Incredible the ruffled shake.
Beneath its roost the careworn miss
This miracle released from weight.