I woke up this morning
with feathers in my eyes.
I gently brushed them off,
wrapped them up,
and saved them in a drawer.
I had been flying in my dreams -
but that is not surprising.
Every night, all men dream of flying.
It's not always obvious,
but it's true,
and the truth is beautiful.
All that humans do,
no matter how it seems,
is either flying,
or trying,
to fly.
It is, of course, practice,
for the day when the itches
at the tips of our shoulder blades
furiously bloom into what they're meant to be:
Wings.
Adding your comment: