Plume

Feathers falling in morning light
from flight, alight
embers slowly glow as turbulence dies;
too photogenic not to share,
but filters are lost in whipped air
near an open door.

Wings beating in blurring daze,
uncaged, un-phased,
this atmosphere an ethereal stage:
a literal invisible platform,
a multifaceted live stream
from performance to floor.

Breeze free from barred confines,
acclimatise, realise
the free escapee now flies
silent, no tweets or chirps;
unplugged we glide like birds
above the net and soar.