A Memory of Wings

An angel she calls me.
But she doesn't see.
The faint scars rise,and stir,
and ache beneath gentle hands.
No blood seeps from these age-old wounds,
but a lost name whispers in my ear.

A longing born from watching her,
bred a choice made forever.
I remember a moment of searing pain,
then the wind rushing by...
and then nothing. 
"My angel," she whispers,
and her hands move slow
over the place where they once were.