I Wish I Were a Bird

sometimes I feel as if I can fly,
as if I could simply step from
this balcony and go into free-fall,
lose my footing and spend a lifetime
in the atmosphere, but only if my
memory is altered enough to remember
that I am a bird, a feather, or something
so much more than I can be.

sometimes it makes me fly,
sitting on this windowsill with
little regard for safety — after
all, why would a bird be scared of
a five-floor drop when it can simply
float on the currents that make their way
through the open window and dry the
sweat that sticks my hair to my head.

I wish I were a bird, because then flying
wouldn’t feel as much like falling.