Boys dream of flying, of

tracing a path in the sky

studying the trajectory of birds and stars and leaves aloft and


if only

I could do that too.

Boys jumping off


off trees and barns and

falling into a

heap of broken bones and belief

to try again,

with wax and feathers and balsa

cloth and string and wire

and wishes,

pedaling furiously into the wind
still pointing their dreams at altitude

not to be nearer to God or angels or death

but exhilaration


freedom from earthly weight and want

from need

always falling

and always thudding home to earth

we all have some of this in us

this inclination to be other

perhaps it is what makes us human

we look at our feet

and want to fly