Breeze blows, catches wings
and tosses them higher,
flings them heavenwards
then lets them fall, tumbling
acrobats swinging under cloud.
Exhale again and they're caught
mid-beat, breath caught
as earth falls away,
and fight to regain balance,
harmony, passing through rays,
split then shaded, blinded again,
rowing for the shore - tidal wind
bringing it nearer, further,
but ever nearer. Soon, soon
a landing stage, strive and steer,
bend the air to speed the goal.
The gale inhales and draws away,
then rushes in with the wave
carrying all before it
and dragging the wings behind,
the rush to keep up, the goal there,
and grab the rail with feet outstretched.
Feathers ruffle as the gale breathes in,
but solidly rooted, stand firm.
© Mary Parker, May 2012