Learning to Fly

chris/ May 4, 2005

I see, at the summit—the height of the hill—
this place people profess is paramount.
I hesitate, not knowing
if I could ever find it within me, the drive to climb so high.
And what of my fear?
I’m so afraid to fall.

But they assure me:
Put faith in good fortune; we’ll all float on.
But no gust of wind, no guidance or grace
could lift me from here, up into that place.

Then out of the blue, I start to believe.
From my stagnation, I gain brief reprieve.
I cannot climb, or use any ordinary means;
I travel the way I do in my dreams:

Push off, like from the bottom of a pool,
and swim, but not in water.

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