Flight of the Feather

Soft as the silken down of a dove,
wisps whispering wistfully,
in the night she nestles onto my pillow
and like a leaf that twists and turns
and bobs onto a current of air,
so, too, does my mind take flight,
shunning the colourless words
that could drown me.

Indian feathers are close to Heaven,
I choose to recall...

And so, together,
we await the uncertain dawn.