--Lucille Clifton 
who would believe them winged
who would believe they could be  
beautiful         who would believe
they could fall so in love with mortals 

that they would attach themselves
as scars attach and ride the skin  

sometimes we hear them in our dreams
rattling their skulls         clicking their bony fingers  
envying our crackling hair
our spice filled flesh   

they have heard me beseeching
as I whispered into my own  
cupped hands       enough not me again
enough       but who can distinguish  
one human voice 
amid such choruses of desire

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