Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Returning

Suspended here, my hand
has the memory of flying,

of curving, arching on air.
My palm tingles, drawn back

inside the car. I reach back
into the buffeting wind,

the invisible resistance,
the heavy push – uplift.

Pivot from the elbow.
The sweeping movement,

tilt, turn, glide, tilt back,
the slow aerial infinity,

this memory of freedom.
It is possible

to echo the motions,
even now.

No comments:

Post a Comment

My dear, few, readers you inspire me to keep writing. Thank you.

Comments are moderated to avoid spam and so that I do not have to subject you to that annoying "if you're not a robot" thing.