I perched in silence, cloaked in gray,
No stars, no sun, no hint of day.
The world around was hushed and thick,
Each wingbeat swallowed, slow and slick.
I used to chase the wind and flame,
To pierce the veil, to carve a name.
But fog does not yield to a fight—
It drifts, it holds, it dims the light.
So I sat still, though fear would bite,
And waited not for wrong or right.
Then through the quiet, not above—
Clarity came, soft as love.
A shape took form not seen before:
The self I missed while wanting more.
No need to fly, no need to flee—
The sky was always here in me.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf