I.
awoken.
his white, wingless figure
gesturing a story
to a blinking pupil —
mine, wide open,
shut — under the shut lid,
his form hovering,
telling without speaking
how it really was, the flood,
the fall, and all that
which was written in a book
telling me
without telling
II.
in my past
I was something —
a man, a creature,
blinded by light?
he says I was there
we had been together
from the very beginning,
bodiless, unsearching —
he once had a different image,
great black wings like Icarus
like his brother
in that desert
III.
to confirm my doubt
I open my eyes —
to destroy my beliefs
I only have to see,
stretch out a hand,
let out the light
like a spool
spilling back to its source
to find nothing, a negative —
no angel but a passing ghost
For We Write Poems’ Prompt #97, A Study In Transitions. Photos by Mariya Mileva.
mabel lee 
Oh but this poem does have wings. It makes me think, even better, it makes me wonder!
I like the phrasing and the whole process of this poem. I can really feel the images speaking inside the poem (different from mine, but then that’s expected, how we each hear and respond) but I hear you listening, if that makes sense.
the flood, the fall // blinded by light? // to destroy my beliefs (strong threads inside here!)
Nice poem. Thank you.
neil
Thank you for your thoughtful comments, Neil. It was definitely a very interesting writing process in conjunction with an interpretation of the image prompts.