how can you compose a song if you don't have wings?

she flows from hand to hand
with fluidity and dream-like composure;
a swan's interpretation
of stroking the air between its wings.

alighted on the surface of her waters,
imaginations of purist innocence,
carried downstream with the currents' undertow,
smooth the stones dwelling below.

unweighted with care is she
of the evening owl's yellow eyes,
that mimic the moon's symmetry
and spy on the arms of timbers.

at the days to come
she offers her fingers of pearl;
the passing bubbles perch upon her eyelids,
leaving drops of faith without bursting.

serenity dwells on her tongue.
it carries eternal vacancy
upon every particle of escaping breath
to the hairs in every aching ear.

she will take your hand
with irresistible gentleness,
and as your next breath is drawn,
insatiable lungs will ask for no exhalation.