Perspective

When I was very small,
I'd watch the aeroplanes
fly low over our house
as they came in to land

and often wonder how
such things as these could fly
and how our ungodly
imitations of flight

are not seamless, as birds,
but disjointed from the
sky, though the closest you
and I shall ever come.

Lazy, nectar-drunken
bumblebees, will always
be unaware of their
own miracle in flight

how strange it seems that rules
of gravity and such
should not apply; they are
more agile than our blimps,

which my daddy had once
shown me how to capture
with his ginormous thumb
and really big forefinger.

I would imagine my
reaction should the plane
begin to falter, shake
on its monstrous metal

wings and plummet, spiral
downwards, a poor mimic
of the kestrel's awesome
rattling cry and dive.

With my own little hands,
I'd reach out and then curl
my fingers around it
and save them all.