tiny meager mighty things

How do we hear what speaks in echoes?

if we hush our breath

can we hear the ancestors dance?

is that my ancestor’s skirt rustling in the wind?

who but the gods can tell

with their journals full of secrets

like Laplace and his demon

chronicling memories of the past

creating infinite space for future dreams

Isis

sits scrawling lazily

tiny meager mighty things

Icarus

spreads their wings and shoots

directly into the sun

on earth we call it lightning

as their wings fall from the clouds

feathers scatter then burn

before ever reaching ground

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