Flapping and screeching the fledglings list
from their nests. Those little marble hearts
are hammering. How will they learn
their element? Clouds are to sky
as words to thought: brief, dissolving
statements through which we gill,
craving more oxygen, thinner membranes.
Such hunger deep in the wing
for flight. To soar, to swoop, to glide –
how infinite the open mouth of any launched verb.