young women • who collect morning dew • savoring drops of sunlight • and breathing in thistle • lacing forest air along their forearms • they rule the skies • they are the only ones looking upwards • young women • who tie four-leaf clovers to their wrists • and store wishing well water in bottles around their necks • spending the witching hour with the moon • pretending not to notice when the autumn wind bends to their slender fingers • hanging their crystalline tears on a chandelier in their library • calmly smoothing honey over the thin scars where their wings used to be • warriors can touch stars either way • they are magical, they are pristine • they collect lavender from the forest floor • they tuck sprigs of baby's breath behind their ear • conjuring thunderclouds to wake them in the morning • but the slow, steadily satin hum of gossamer wings is just as effective.
