There are feathers in my room.

From afar they look like small rainbows,

Emitting from gray pluming clouds.

Up close they appear to be

Brush strokes that only you

Know how to manipulate.

There are feathers on the floor,

There are feathers on the bed,

There are feathers on table tops and in drawer spaces,

There are feathers littered all about and I’m scared to clean them up;

Because I don’t want to forget what they look like.