Wearing the wings of the newly deceased,
she perched on the rim of reality,
toeing the line of damnation/redemption,
for one minute longer, to linger... to be.

Through ages of aching she waited,
and bore her affliction alone.
She bound herself to faith
in a destiny she sought to own.

Longer still she tarried,
bridging the divide,
mortal in her heart,
her soul and her mind.
Darker grew her visions,
shortening her sight.
Still she begged permission
to remain between the day and night.

But for her trust and patience,
she payed a heavy price,
at the ray of every sunrise:
a feather for her sacrafice.

Until the dawn she sought me,
dripping diamonds from her eyes,
and pressed her last into my hand,
that I might not forget to fly.