Sledges

To you mon ami. I admit it. I was mistaken. I mistook you.

I was the sparrow
And you?
You were the hawk that snatched me in mid-plummet,
Feasting on my whimsied feathers with a pretention
As if under the impression
That I
Had no earthly idea of what lay below.
Hammers fell and nails would rise
And hot, colorful, operatic tears would froth in my own personal impressionist sea
On that day that the broken sledges
Symphonized
Sychronized
And said never such Moneted skies just can't exist.