I wish to be
a summer leafy dogwood tree
or the little blue songbird
that might perch on me
or maybe, just the fly-so-high wings
of the little bird who sings
amidst the leaves
of me, a summer dogwood-maybe thing
then surely I’d soar
through a clear blue sky door
above the sad world of you
becoming the wind and more
higher than higher than high
forever unquestioning why
and free; so free
never, ever again, to die
