In Search of the Night Kastle

The feather lay half in and half out of shadow,

clean and dry, molted, not torn free or bloodied.

A sigh of relief escapes his cachectic form as he

wades forth through bands of light and dark.

It is soft and downy, smelling of melancholy,

promising a long awaited reunion of father and son.

His own wings had failed him long ago from disuse 

leaving him to wander on foot to find what he had lost.

The Night Kastle beckons as the place he’d left the boy 

young and wingless within its walls, a place of protection

against dangers both real and imagined in the  

slanted lands where only shadows grow.