The Serpent And The Wings Of Night __link__ -

They meet at the hinge of dusk, that narrow door between what crawls and what soars.

“You would show me the dark of the root?” asks the wings. the serpent and the wings of night

The serpent rises—not in defiance, but in geometry. It coils itself into a ladder, each scale a rung, each muscle a promise of ascent. The wings, weary of the endless horizon, fold themselves into a question. For the first time, they long for a weight to carry, a tether to the warm dirt. They meet at the hinge of dusk, that

“You would take me to the dark of the moon?” asks the serpent. each scale a rung