A Dreamingbird (IP)

It does no harm
to flap my arms
and make a charm-
ing chirping
sort of sound.

The lift and thrust
of lust for life
is just enough
to get me
off the ground.

For, in my dreams,
I am, it seems,
a singing, swing-
ing, wing-ed
thing in flight.

And, with my eyes
on the hori
zon, follow swall
ows flying
out of sight.

And anytime that I may choose
to feel the earth beneath my shoes
then I just open up my eyes
and I’m no longer in the skies.

And anytime that I desire
to soar some more or fly up higher,
I merely close my eyes and then,
a wing-ed thing, I rise again.

I glide and slide
and play around.
I loop and swoop
far off the ground
or, with bird claws
instead of feet,
I perch upon
a branch and tweet.
There really is
no life as sweet
as that of a dreamingbird.