from skyward’s pounding height,
I glimpse you,
majestic span slicing clouds in half.
Fanning springtime,
from mountaintop to shoreline
you leave transparent splendor,
a wake for dusk to marvel.
You tap round pods of heat
and, latching on with talons,
you ride them up and up;
a shortcut to Elysian fields.
Across your glossy back,
the sun doesn’t seem so far,
just an orbit of light fractured
along horizon,
one more playground for your wings.
Before, when I was young,
I snatched a feather from your tail.
Are you still mad at me for that?
Now I walk from cliff to ocean’s edge
begging for your gift of flight,
holding that plucked treasure high;
you never share your secrets.
TA Gorton
