High up in the shadows and branches,
unseen among the leaves,
a fledgling awakens to the morning sun
and flutters its wings,
testing their reach and the strength of air
that surrounds the earth.

In the silence I sometimes wonder
if the light of stars
reaches other worlds in this way,
passing through, touching lightly.

Consider a small insignificant creature
stirring as such, not so to the heavens
or our weighty sacrifices.

How one day it will feel the stream of light
flowing through the senses,
and as the blood fills with warmth
though not afraid of security, its own weight,
the height of air or anything substantial,
will stretch its wings and vanish
into a sky without end.
A small creature whose wings
are like a wind.

Stephen Cipot
Garden City Park

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