She must come from a family of feathers
the way the wind catches at her edges
lifts her as she twirls
dancing with her in its cloudy arms

She might be the rare morsel of an eagle
driven from his concrete aerie
another breed vanished
during the long argument of crimson

Leaving behind a golden splinter of a girl
found jammed beneath an aching fingernail
on the hand wearing five rings

–––

She alone still hears the echoing cry
of the mother robin who fashioned

the blue Ukrainian egg that fed her
curved those pale wings
curled the dappling comb

then fell into that long gliding sleep
most teenagers blame on themselves

Raised by falconers
her confectionery dance tethered between
the physics of freezing
and the gilt crucible of forged blades
she etches the memory of her orbits
within each icy revolution

The fathering, mothering, loving wind
unticketed
waits beyond this elliptical arena

The music, their emissary
a fostering metaphor
wraps her within its imaginary breezes
licking at accidental wounds

holds her aloft
twisting, dazzling
an emerald seed
genius spark of laughter

well above the wars between lesser spirits
angry transactions
simmering explanations

–––

She must come from a family of feathers
born with such possibilities of flight
forced to swim through a raging winter of tears

to sculpt a new home
here at the apex of a glacier
forging a new nest out of the residue
of toe loops, luxes and axels

surviving the arbitrary anger of each deathly spin
to fracture the darkness

a slender filament of orphaned light
glistening like ice

Written in response to Oksana Baiul's gold medal performance in the Olympics