To fly.
To sing.
To swim and dive.
My baby lays on a black fleece blanket in the backyard.
His panorama is the sky in grandest blue.
The crows, like specks of dust
Enter and leave his point of view.
Sometimes I want to fly up high and escape the fire below.
The turmoil of an earth half-hinged.
The murmur of mankind filled with rage.
Why does a yell take up more space than a smile?
Why are we so silent to those teeming with the same elements?
Why do we feel so helpless and hopeless and all alone?
My baby gazes with innocent unknown at the bliss above
while I hover nearby with guarded eye
and words whispered behind raised tongue.
You will fly.
You will sing.
You will swim and dive.
You will become aviary.
Free.
In spite of this cage below.
