Thursday, October 27, 2016


When I was flying, I could taste the air
And hear the wind as I was passing through,
As long as I remembered what to do
While slipping by stars. If I didn't care,
And headed out the door and up the stair
Onto the roof, and if I never flew
Or dreamed, if I forgot to talk to you
And freely fell, the sky would still be there.

So here I am, and here is my delight
At finding out the truth about your heart,
My wings, the doctor's red notes on my chart,
The owl that watched us waste away the night,
And slivers of my dreams, however slight.
This is a dream. It isn't life, it's art.


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