going home

I never thought
how noisy it would be:
the wind through my feathers
squeaks and rustles
as I pull and release
my wings like
a rower through air.
Pull and lift and fly,
rest and soar and drop.
Now an angel,
now Icarus.
My place determined
by my own strength.

Now rowing,
now sailing through
the breath of the world.
My wings grow larger with every beat.
They become clouds.
Only now am I free
of Icarus’ fate.

There is nothing quite
like going home. mjh

2005? [Previously published on: Apr 16, 2006]


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