Winged Thing

Long, lengths of sky, I've spent
fingering soft mast clouds
of silks that calm the qualm;
tremble now and triple.

I am rooted down through,
ground rises up to greet me;
still, my hands ripple, reaching
for that wish-blue wonder.

You dig into my heart space
and race, propelled through sky;
my arms wave good goodbyes
to the sharp-beaked winged thing.