Brought in on wings of bird and wind
From caves of deepest marsh.
Within the midst of swarms of flocks
Yet at the head—alone.
My carrier—she flies too fast—
Or is it she’s too slow?
My face is frozen from the wind—
But eyes—they yearn for more.
The boulders fall down from the trees
As we weave through the trunks.
Burst open on the rocks below
Seeds spilling forth with speed.
We fly—we fly—o’er fields of mud
Where little men are mold
(From single-celled slight origins)
By boys who play at God.
Up here no God descends to fly
Just blue sky all around—
And endless possibilities—
Yet many still seek land.
This view high up the grounds spread out
I’d hold on with both hands!—
Yet still my bird—descending down—
Please—stop! I’ll close my eyes!