It’s more than eggshell
but it will still grow, crack.
It will still fly, fledgling.

This time I say,
I have no repentance
to bleed,

For the need of this
heart,
beating my closer.

Hands, stars, sun unfurling
into sky,
into flight.

Expanding with
feet pounding,
it runs like a year yet

running is human.
It belongs in my bones and
spreads, kicks out

In twitching limbs
towards
and away from.

But
It is not me,
It is operant.

It’s a defense, and
this wasn’t meant for me,
yet it saves.

I am all nerves,
barely assembled and
half dressed.

This is the air,
dust dancing
between its fingers,

and this time,
it runs alongside me
and breathes.