On wafting currents, he glides on high
Seeing below the tethered lands
Sailing cross the azure canvas
As if by an artists’ strokes, he scans
Drifting high with whispering air
His legs held up, withdrawn from there.
Eyes that lock, converge below
With a cry, a dive, a blinding show
Yesterday’s naught, tomorrow’s surreal
The reality of now to him is revealed
- Ron Dowd
03/26/2010
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