My hands are wings with feathers on the fingers. The fingers get in the way of the feathers, the feathers in the way of the fingers. What did feathers and fingers first learn to do together, before evolving to leave the ground, elongated on the arms of dinosaurs? What can they do together here, at the ends of my extremities?

I am neither reptile nor bird. This is a home for my hybrid hands’ offspring, creatures grasping at and prefiguring flight from their perches above the earth.