Beyond windows, over rooftops, over smiles, over joy.
Fueled by fates flame and brimstone,
and sounds, shapes, and music,
on feathers dipped in gold and cane sugar,
I fly.
I fly
for freedom and for loved ones,
to leave my ink stain over suffering,
and to hold my breath against the wind
until my lungs have become dew drops
and my heart can feed the world.
I fly.
I fly
to kiss the cheek of daybreak
to tuck the sun in at night,
hand in hand with my lover, the Moon.
To hear a million lashes flutter shut
and a million lips breathe cool night air.
I fly.
I fly
from graveyards.
On a crash course with a newborns first cry.
To the edge of the horizon's horizon and beyond.
Because I don't need to keep walking,
I fly.
Spoiler
I wrote this to record how I felt the moment I found out that my grandfather had died. I am not sure whether it sounds insane but I actually was sitting outside in the amber sunset and I felt him rush over me as a breeze that shook the branches of the crab-apple tree in my back yard. It was summer, and the breeze was warm and I cry now every time I think of that moment, and every time I reread what he was in this poem.
