World Literature:
Denis Mair (USA)
Skies
You told me you dreamed of a clear blue sky
And to you it felt like a good sign
But the sky is not the best of signs for me.
I often used to watch the flight of birds
Until I lost sight of them among the clouds.
Once I stood on a cliff on the Oregon coast
Watching seagulls flying low over waves
Until they became twinkling specks
Too small to see among the whitecaps,
And I watched hawks turning slow circles;
Pigeons whirring into skies on fire with sunset;
Crows hurrying home under threatening clouds;
Ducks putting muscle into a skyward climb;
And larks skimming water then wheeling high;
An airplane so far away it was less than a dot,
The fading chord of its engine pervading the sky.
The birds I watched were like my hopes, always
racing ahead of me,
Going into regions I could not see
Abandoning my body to gravity, while I watched
with my aspiring eyes, my sad eyes, my left-behind eyes.
But you kept your hopes with you and took flight into many skies:
Into the skies of song, of long distance running,
Of the inner sky that is opened by the breath.
I can hold you in my arms, but I cannot go along.
I can only stay near and feel glad for your freedom,
As I feel freed by watching a bird in flight.
