by Diane Fahey
You look down at them from the cliffs — a pair
traversing an ocean of air, their wing moves,
climbing or gliding, as simple-subtle
as a dialogue of speech with silence,
the stroking of a beloved into deep calm.
Whiteness ribbons above waves spitting and
swallowing white, swilling shards of sea-glass
that catch the sun's unwatchable eye.
Awe turns envy towards aspiration:
to be as actively at ease in life
as they are in flight; to let essence flower
wildly and truthfully into time;
one's life a gracile imaginary line
drawn through the measurelessness of things.
Last updated January 14, 2019