Standing, with the heel of his left touching the toes of his right,

In the dying dark before the dawn he can see

A path stretching between the platforms.

The steel against his skin is taut, tight, but it seems so far.

Imagined wings sprout from his spine, see-through against the sky,

The feathers fanned against the stars as they snuff out one by one.

His wings feel almost real as he slides his left foot forward.

If he believes he will not fall then the ground cannot touch him.

The sun shows itself now, so bright it outshines all others.

In the warming wind his feathers feel strange, this new breeze is like the

Blood that makes them beat. As the air begins to rise, here

Parallel to hell belief dawns on him.

Then a strong gust kicks up, and the steel shifts beneath him.

Below is the solid ground, but the sky seems so safe;

And for a moment he is standing on nothing, but

Only the wind drops as calmness claims the sky once more.