Noelle, I wrote you a Poem.

This morning,
the sky dropped a feather on me:
one pearly gray blade from
the wing of a mourning dove.

It cut across the red sleave of
my sweater, and i thought of you
a sound;
you singing in
a distant room.

I know now, the spell
Rapunzel sang
unwittingly to snare
the prince.

Your morning voice
bright
the tangle of
your penny colored hair.

I know why men will always want
to give sharp women wings
and turn them into angels.

I know the height you sirens
drop your bladed feathers from.