Rob Spiegel

We don’t have wings
because we would fly too often.

We would soar at dawn,
hungry for clouds.
We would taste
the blue sheets of air,
drunk with desire
for the downing winds.

You would never see me again.

I would fly from these houses,
followed by a thousand lost children,
screaming out over the ocean,
dazed by the mist,
past any chance for return,
just to feel the last few hours
of gulping air in this awful freedom.