When Anxiety Has Wings by Lisa Montagne

 

Hope may be a thing with feathers,

But anxiety has wings

To soar

Inside the expanse of a ribcage

Or the firmament of a heart

Until it tires

And descends in the night

To roost

In the gallery of a cerebral cortex,

Peering down,

Bespectacled,

Like a judge on a bench.

 

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