The Blanket

Quickly, silently, swiftly swimming through the air.
Its skin blue, its belly white, green.
Its static sting so sharp but its coat, so soft.
Its skin, covered in stains, each one with meaning.
Warmth. Comfort. Mistakes.

The breeze from under its wings so gentle
Not making a single thing, not a feather fly
Gently wobbling everything it touches
Hanging on the plastic wire,
Soaring through the air
Returning to its rest
Waiting in the darkness
Anticipating to fly again