Neither Fish Nor Fowl


We watch seagulls rise
and dip, effortless, riding
the thermals just as they were
designed to do. We are

still looking for our wings,
middle-aged and this
is the best we can do? Love,
I know there is a current, a wind
a wave, a road. I know that
somewhere there is a conveyance
to which we belong and it

will carry our tired limbs
when we cannot fly. Once and
for all we will ditch this scorched earth
policy and move above, below
around the sorrowful flames.

I am tired of being a
surface dweller. Let us soar
or swim but let us not fall
nor disappoint the sky.



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