The map just out of reach,
reading glasses in a case shut tight,
I have to wing-it tonight,
pray these mud-filled wings take flight
but who will guide me home?
I cannot do this on my own,
not in this wind. And yet I rise
higher and higher until I see nothing
on the ground. Nothing familiar.
Are you trying your wings, too?
Pray these sodden words take flight
and find you.
Shake it out. Shake it out. Shake it out.
It’s only poetry, like wet dog wings –
something to say and I’m saying it or
nothing to say – I can say that, too,
and well. Can you? Shake it out.
Together, let’s flap our way
to the story of something that matters
and fly. High. Like geese.
Soaring, soaring, soaring.
With so many of us, we can make it
a long, long way. Pray these wings
will carry you and carry me
until we can all be found
to circle ‘round the place,
seen or not yet seen, we call home.
* * * * *
30 poems in 30 days.