Quills

They swim in the sky with a bird who explores

In our minds that cloud into a storm

The feathers that form in our ears,

They float down gently to the ledge of our brains

And sit until they are asked to fly

So when it's ready, 

the feathers float off the edge

She embeds herself into your veins

reaching the very tips of your fingertips

And the tickle of the feather give you smiles

The words are just something you can't explain

but you do

And soon, you're more than a poet

A novelist, a writer

You're an artist