still
as a moment
pressed into light
a sigh
then another
let go

slow
as the beating
of locust to storm
and honey the bee
shall become

sweet
as remembered
bursting to song
and words
without reason
to stay

soft
as the whisper
of breath to my skin
where pleasing
the morning shall lay

fearless
falling –
breast to the blue
held to the clouds
by my soul

touch
and I’m one
with the essence
of life
as spirit finds wing
on the wind

. . .