The first desire of the child
is to fly, which is why children
after crawling or standing,
walking or finally learning to run
are often found perched
atop a stack of books on a high chair,
hanging, one hand on the wall,
the other clutching a light fixture,
peering up, up, as if the earth
were another womb to break free from,
and once we resign ourselves to life
on foot, it becomes the desire of dreams,
so the dream becomes possibility,
and waking, a kind of disappointment.
We try to fall back to sleep
before the dream flies away
but arrive in time to feel only the brush
of wind from its feathers
until finally,
a life of this desire takes form
and in old age
we come to resemble birds,
hands stiffened to claws,
eyes darting around our heads
which seem to tilt back
as if setting a course,
as if we will grow wings
sometime very soon.