As a child I, like so many others,
imagined we might have wings
and could take flight at will, unrestrained
by gravity or parents, a freedom
both denied us: for our own good
the parents said, silently by gravity.
We would look at the sky, the clouds,
the birds cavorting without seeming care
as we were called in for homework,
piano practice, household chores.
Now that we are old, we see the sky
differently, a pending threat of rain,
of storms, of the wars that seem
to hover just over the horizon
always threatening approach.
In my dreams I still imagine myself
a bird able to take flight at will
unrestrained by gravity, by obligations.
In my dreams I still imagine myself
a young child, not a quickly aging man.