Flying

Flying
Betsy McKenzie

Once, I could fly.
At night, when I dreamed,
I flew: out the window,
Into the black sky.
Up into the dark treetops,
I would soar.
Up into the moonlit clouds
Swoop and float.
I still recall the feel of air
Rushing past, as I lean into a turn,
Landing lightly on a branch.

February 12, 2006