These  bonds we have.

They run deeper than you know.

Tying us up tight,

arms wound ’round flesh and bones.

But gaps there are.

Try as I might

to hold on,

down and out you wriggle

and giggle

looking back only once

before the flapping begins.

Up you go

Boy wonder.

Where and when

may I ask,

did you get those wings?

Squinting into the sun

I see your  feet

dangling,

black cutouts against the sky.

Feathers come

and your laughter

trailing on the wind,

swirling together

around my head.

The feathers,

I gather.

One.

Two.

Then fistfuls,

brushing them against my cheek and forearm.

What to do with them? :

Glue

them

to

the

wall.

Now and then

I will pluck one off

and say:

Oh look!

Would you look at this one?

This was when

he had chicken pox.

Everywhere oozing.

Swollen eyes.

Nose too–

draining into his mouth.

Poor little thing!

I go back for the laughter,

cupping it like

lightning bugs in my hand,

pouring it inside a great big dusty seashell.

Listen.

What can you hear?

No.

No it’s not the ocean.

It’s his  laughter.

Now let me have a turn.

I look once more,

up and out into the blue.

Boy wonder on a cloud!

How many times have I told you?

No.

You can’t stand on a cloud,

you can’t  sit on a cloud,

you can’t sleep on a cloud.

It’s like walking through a mist

my boy,

seeping through your nostrils.

But.

what.

do.

I.

Know?

Step right up ladies and gentleman!

Boy wonder:

Asleep on a cloud!

Shh…

you’ll wake him.

Too late,

for there he goes:

down

down

down

into one of those dark green forests

with  mossy stones  and

black-eyed does who look your way

in alarm.

As they should.

But you pay them no mind

for you are running.

Running fast with strength and hope

of what you know not.

To where

God only knows.

And yet another view.