Soaring, gliding, touching the sun,
Portending trouble, and eating their weight daily.
I’m more interested, though,
In the birds that appear to suddenly fall
From the sky without plan or purpose.
On a few occasions, I have thought a bird
Died suddenly in flight and came crashing
To earth only to see it open its wings at the last
Moment and land safely next to a worm or morsel of bread.
I’m relieved to see them touch down without so much as
A ruffled feather, and I begin to think that I may
Be just as lucky and find wind beneath my wings
At the last possible second.
Perhaps what feels like a free fall at the moment
Is my own weight carrying me to my destiny
Or some small nourishment.