Two Feet

People have two feet,and birds have two feet too.

But people hand their feet to the ground,and birds hand theirs to the clouds.

From childhood we learn to stand properly,learn to walk straight,learn not to fall,learn to fold a whole life into a road,and then to run along it with the crowd.

A bird comes downonly in order to rise again;a bird at rest on a branchlooks as though it were putting the skyaway for a while.

So whether one can flydoes not depend on feet.Some bodieswere marked by the wind at birth;some soulsfolded their wings too early,and so mistook the soil for something to lean on.

And so we sew our sense of safetyinto the soles of our shoes,and call the far distanceempty and unreal,and every lifting of the headwe renameas impractical youth.

But I still want to know:if a bird can push off with two feet,why can't a personslip lightly free, for one second,from the weight of an entire life?

Maybe flyingis not leaving the ground,but that when fate presses me low,I am still willing —upward,toward light,toward the place that cannot be reached,to come a little bit higher, a little closer.