The wings of dusk

Continuous and swarthy patterns
that landscape at my eyes
moving over tethered ropes
that boldly flutter among the ties,
wings that flap against the stone
reaching the never do heights
heavy breath and racing hearts
feeling the cold and bitter bites,
the gnawing of another day
breaking through the meaty brawn
tensing all that one creates
night crushing temples pawn,
muddy spew in un-gripped hands
no gasping left within bird
a shadows ridge at dawnings gate
and the painful admission of word.