A bird
lies motionless before me.
I see it with
flawless child’s eyes,
free from fear, or judgement.
How that bird must have flown in its life;
rising on currents of air,
feasting on insects,
flying from larger birds,
shitting on cars.
Always with the knowledge,
-that innate animal instinct-
that one day it will not rise with the morning,
nor sing to the sky,
nor mate, nor eat, nor fly,
nor shit on another car.
And it takes to the sky
with such fury and abandon
so as to feel the time
ticking away
as the air blows by him.
How beautiful each flight must be,
to know that you have been given
such a gift as to let you soar,
above it all, where only clouds dwell.
HG 1995 – 2000
