plucked out one-by-one. White down. Drawn on black paper. Floating between right forefinger and thumb, penciled in seconds, by the left hand. All ten thousand four hundred and eighty-three feathers. A long masquerade celebrating the airy insulation
of dinosaurs evolved 100 million years before birds took flight. Before pillows encased plumes, as head nests for any who might dream of an uncomplicated world.

Light in wave, weight
and touch. Softened
by intention, harmonic
repetition. Awakening
any who’d dare decipher
what’s taken for granted.
Draw them, discard them—
much like climbers counting
steps up Mt. Everest, Machu
Picchu or Calvary. Who could
guess such light-hearted fingers
would create drawings collected
by New York’s Metropolitan
Museum of Art?