Fledgling In Hand

Fledgling_Bombycilla_cedrorum

(source)

…and in all dreams

I soar

and risk

and shelter

alien to life

awake demands

be there, do this, 

must do better,

in dreams

another life

in different hands

gentler hands than mine own

more forgiving

big and soft and strong enough

to hold my all

fledgling am I

not yet born to living

in dreams

I’m free

to risk

and fly

and never fall

Reading a poem by Paul this morning and immediately agreeing with its sense of other worldness. I recall a lot of dreams. Not sure why. But I love them. It’s a whole other world where I’m almost a different me. The essence of self perhaps rather than the shell-encased. Or not. But most enjoyable.