I am weary of those who trod and plod
shuffle or flip-flop slap
concrete squares and black top oval tracks
white arrows conducting
wheels to one side
feet to another.
I want to hover like faerie folk
dance up the wall like Astaire
fly in the crook of an arm above Metropolis
feed sugar cubes to a pure white Pegasus
ascend to the heavens and beyond
return earthbound
soar with quick syncopation, twelve butterfly-wing-beats a second
then slow to the leisure of five, like floating on my back with waves of air holding me aloft
lead others in an unruly flight pattern
through the vast menagerie of nectaries:
alighting in blue borage petals and purple lavender sepal,
the furry brown lily stamen and the bulbous white orchid anther,
the zucchini flower’s pistil and apple blossom’s style,
perching ever so briefly in the ovaries of tulips and lunaria
even now, in the post-production phase of my own.
Only my body has the limitation of feet, pavement,
the expectation of a path to follow
my dreams are untethered to this ruled world
my soul is winged.