Departure

I have no memory of flight
more than a hundred feet
from where I stand. Dreams

of departure surround me
as though a mockery: parrots
and hummingbirds show off

while I am disenchanted.
What more for a flying blue
balloon, a different plane

on every cloud covering it?
No parachutes, bungee jumps,
even these flights in limbo,

but in freefall. How I wish
the wind welcomes me
like any plastic or newspaper,

or a leaf, detached
from a branch,
dry and dead.

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