I live on the edge

of a quiet ocean

that is, Sky,

and, everyday

its inhabitants swim past me

on wings.

Once upon a time,

one dropped down–

featherless, shiny,

eyes closed;

I fed it, and it lives,

it swims, even today.

It devours with a vigor

I lost sight

of such hunger to live,

or such desire to swim,

to fly, to spread wings,

lift my head, suppliant,

to the great god above

dropping food

into my open mouth.

Such trust,

which only comes

from desperation,

our helpless bow,

in that fragile place

between life and death,

an ocean of spirit

always floating by.