WingedBy Cynthia Huerta

Winged, the silhouette glides above,across the azure and crimson palette so alive,soaring, soaring then the dive,stealing my breath and lifting my boneswith the haunting freedom that it owns.

Dare I grow wings and learn to fly,break through the glassy sky,follow the solitary journey that rips the air,and the convictions that guide it there?

Soft and warm the water wheremany turn the wheel,fin to fin, gill to gill,darting, dancing, turning,dissolving into One.

Alas, the water's warm,the wheel must turn,and the One casts the pattern.

But, look,my wings have grown!