the one day

five times,
thrashing against the evening sky
I pinned all the hope to the sun, and
waited for it to set.

at the sunrise,
I found it newly scraped and stretched
drumming the voice
of the silent flight
wherein I caught it home;

striking my palm to the earth
all the trees nodded - tall, pale-capped truth
and I pulled the making from the ground
five winds up, far from the heart.