the bidding

we're on separate ways
with separate wings half merged
walking the same plane
from bone to bone forgotten
to ourselves and each other
and we're sometimes blind
when we shouldn't be
nevertheless we know notice and feel
but always too late
a bit too late
and we're done for
separate ways with separate wings
collecting mud-stroked feathers
gathering all that's left to solve an enigma
preparing but not yet ready to say
the word
that will undo the bidding
undo the world itself
to change the river flow
and we're afraid cause we're not certain
to let go if none catches us
from bone to bone
which we were born forgotten