Diminutive grey bird lay curled
in bed of tat and feather fluff,
my whispered coo not near enough
to wake the pigeon from its slumber.
But fast twist flick away she flew
on renewed mission; how those creased
expressive wings awakening
were bright ascendants on the wind.
How quick the leap of faith –
an extra breath,
hanging free from all restraint
imposed and once accepted.
What madness to undo
the tie of twisted rope,
fishing out spliced ends
which for decades held true.
And edge forwards.
I see a shaman’s face
observing from the moon.
Aye, but these limbs are my own.
Risk, courage or stupidity,
the unfamiliar domain of
some other bird. No more easing out –
Time to leap and trust the air.