Plumeology

A feather in the fern, in the fight
In the middle of the air
In the bird, in the night.

A feather in the hat, in the heart
In the middle of the day
In the rest, in the play.

A feather in the...
cloak, in the spoke
in the quagmire choke
of bland,
where the soft miry land
will shake and yield
to understand
to hand the hand
in wonder grande.

A feather in the quill, in the will
in the brave and the ill,
In the wanting
In the waiting
and still.
In the start and the middles,
and encore of fiddles
in the know
in the now
and the riddles.

Every soul is a spine
stitched to feathers and time,
and gentle
with mine
you are here.
Every soul is a lover
and history book mother
and father of love over fear.