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

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