by Edward Ahern
Seeming not long ago
I dreamed of flying.
Racing without resistance
Along shore cliffs and over chasms.
Brushed by tree-top branches and skyscraper flags.
Gently indifferent to the surface bustle.
But with hair and deeper voice
Came weight and fear of falling.
And more timid man-high risings
That let others pull me down.
Until I could not soar at all.
My dreams for decades
Have never been of flight,
And I am not unhappy, roped to earth.
But only hope
That my decline will free me
With an infant’s tentative movement
To play again in the sky.
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