Excited

Yes :-) Here it is:

Birdmad Girl

What is it like? To wake in plumed morning,
sprouting feathered flames , blazing hot enough
to give the polar ice caps a run for their history.

An impossible dream of flight, lifting out
of night rooms, into other countries,
in a jangled tumble of words.

They say that you are mad, but maybe
you simply have another kind of wisdom,
found in the joy of thermals, the stab

of toothless sharp jaws, the ministry
of hard shelled eggs, the primitive soar and dip,
frenzied flocking, raved mobbing of roaring threats.

You open your throat to a bell of song,
a sky canvas dreamed in reverse, fantastical,
worlds beyond the veil of claw and tooth.

A northern child, thrown against the day’s sighs,
to dive and breast away through open windows,
as light stepping through islands, going somewhere

in the sparring air, windward, your anchors lifted
and stowed behind your eyes, in secret places,
always ascending, flocking just out of reach.