In his most vulnerable moment,
life slapped him hard
across the face.
He felt his soul
tremble, then shatter
into a thousand sparks.

Light fled upward,
eluding his grasp.
He lay prone,
watching his own embers
ignite the black.

Tears fell. Hands shook.
Shoulders sagged under the weight,
and yet,
he smiled
at the beauty reflected in his eyes:
He still had his wings.

Hours later, cold and raw,
he gathered the sparks
that hadn’t fled,
pressed them warm
against his chest.
Slowly, light seeped back
into his bones.
He rose, shaking ash
from feathers still whole,
and smiled, not at beauty now,
but at the sky.