For years, I dreamed that I could fly,
But this dream didn't have to die.
Instead, it found itself replaced
By something different on its face
But similar in ways that count.
I pilot earthly, urban mounts.
I don't feel wind blow through my hair;
The rest of me cuts through the air.
I bank through turns as if on wings.
I hardly know of better things.
Just kick, stomp, twist, and off I go:
The closest thing to flight I know.
No comments:
Post a Comment