My favorite toy was a bird that could fly.
It was blue, red and yellow with a black beak
and its eyes were greenish blue.
Its feathers were soft and thin.
It looked real and could hatch eggs.
My parents gave it to me one Christmas.
It felt fluffy and could sing and talk.
I used to play with it all the time but then I lost it.
Some days I still look for it.
But where on earth has it gone?
I do not know,
maybe it was so real that it flew away.
Here comes the wind
blowing through my silk hair.
The wind is floating me up
in the sky and the feel of
clouds touching my injured body,
waking me up,
telling me Listen and
Look at yourself,
You’re fine, and
No more injuries.
I’m being healed,
and I feel as if God touched my
heart and made me a beautiful dove.
Flying through the
baby blue sky,
through my mouth,
and wind makes
go enthusiastically crazy.
great the breeze feels
through my white
I am the tree with
a bird’s nest on me under the clouds
and the Southern sky. It feels good
as the wind blows on my crooked neck.
I am leaning to the side
with only one leaf, because
they all blew away except
that one, and I will not let go.
My friends are silent, as
though we shall not move from this place
where it is green land unless someone
moves us. As the sun sets the nest on
my head, the owner and their babies
come back with a worm in their mouths.
And the sun sets and sets and sets,
while the moon comes up.