Flight

Flight
is merely a state of mind.
Imagining
can send one higher than
the farthest any stray cloud may wander.
Love, I think,
is better rocket propellant
than any hydrogen and oxygen fuel tank
was ever equipped to hurtle man to the outer heights.
And one wonders
at the time man envied birds,
for it was always in us to discover spaces
no flighted creature could ever dream of approaching,
of slipping past not only gravity, but desire itself — to the secret of light.