Learning to Fly
Wheeling in the morning sun, Raven calls,
“Wingless one, fly with me!” Then he laughs.
Rolling together in airy lea, they beckon.
“Soar to us. Play with us. Featherless!”
Rising from awesome canyon depths, effortless,
Floating on the draft, they regard me.
Standing confidently, beneath a juniper, he scorns me.
“Folded wings catch no air,” scolds Raven.
As I lie bruised, a fallen flier, he cheers me.
“Wings inside,” he confides, and he laughs.