it did not bring him low to love this way
he’d never groveled never scraped nor knelt
he did not understand how falling could
correctly be the word for what he felt
he felt a tug at heart like it was tied
with string to dandelion yellow kites
and near no clawing trees nor power lines
with gusts of warming wind to guide their flight
and yet in flying or in falling one
remains the same until one touches ground
for everything in air or earth is bound
like Icarus in wings beneath the sun
to earth where what goes up must soon come down
still in that briefest rise the goal is won
No comments:
Post a Comment