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Written and Recorded by Anne tammelDid you have wings? Each limb reaching toward an open sky, over New York. Spinning, toppling. angelic, blackening papers drift among you-- those snowflakes of September scattered from open windows. Could they have been the wings of those who won’t emerge, releasing them to an expanse we will not touch? We will not know. And will we ever gather all of those papers? You drift along- side them, suspended, momentarily—inhumanly free, and only for this split-second moment. Will we ever know what they were? How many? The question that fills each of us as you topple through this odd black morning: Who are you? Why you choose to lead this pattern of papers that dances into the sky-turned- smoke—Icarian angels rejecting despair, floating high above us on euphoric wings, brave. Immortal, lost…and yet somehow momentarily lofty… |
Anne Tammel
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