Feathers

If I could breath, I couldn't breath. A hawk hit a pigeon, hard above me. the feathers fly, drift, and float all around and through me.
I remember laughter, it floats down with the feathers, as once a pillow, filled with light down burst in the laughing of my children and there were whitesoft everwhere. In our noses, in our lashes and we had to close our smiling eyes to keep them from watering.