I hear the sound of wings
beating against thick, lofty air.
A million shards of glass embedded in a deep,
night sky.
This is the stillness before the shutter slams shut,
then a moment of black.

I think in strands of moments:
a string of beaded
dew upon a rounded web,
fragile against an unexpected wind.
It scatters orbs that disappear,
and I am in such awe
that I forget to breathe.