by J. Randall Brett
Flying is walking down the beach
With a white knife for a dog.
Flying is having
Salt bones
For wings.
Flying is standing out in the mudflats
Dressed like a bride
Expecting kestrels for the groom.
Flying is the wind
Scouring the sea wall with sand
Until It etches every word
Of The Crab Manifesto.
Flying is sunlight
Tearing and tattering
The surface of the sea.
Flying is an angel
Stepping from the waves
Shivering the water from her wings
Then looking up.