Flying
It’s been years since I stroked air to fly
pushing off without the aid of wings
to rise above the humming wires
through gossamer and troubled flutterings
skies break from the coast of the everyday
red roofs green pastures capture living below
while I transcend, featherless,
rainless grasses, shriveled kale, bloomed out morning
glories and reach towards touchable stars
the soundest advice pipes weakly from the ground
but not once do I tumble to the sidewalk
thud hard against their reasonable concerns
even now sometimes I rise
pressing foot to pavement to catch the air again
by W. Joe Hoppe, with Brass Tacks
Posted over on Qarrtsiluni
No comments:
Post a Comment