walking the old plain passages of the sky,
you hold the air; hang your chalking talons
in the lair of the sky-sand gyre
and letters are left there, to cycle the wind
and carve and curve, to converge
in the raptor’s vortex

while I circle
the core of things;
fly wide, miss my mark
watch the centre
untether like a feather, tickles
the blue out of the wistful sky
as it gently rocks its way down

only to fall and rest and form the nest
within which to become whole once more,
to gather in the wind, I gathered
and unfurl and hurl, headlong
into the power of my windswept
mind, that pushed to the edge,
from the thermals of itself
to embrace the rush of the dive,
the seconds where you become
and hold the unknown

for a little while