Skydiving

Cooling winds cross my face
falling through open sky.
Only the birds are here,
no one to ask me “why?”

Freedom to dive or swerve
to fall or float in space.
I observe land and sea,
watch water turn to lace..

The ground is a textured
fabric of many shades,
fulgid patterns of grain,
waving fluent brocades.

But quickly I descend,
promptly I’m on the ground.
The beauty of flying on hold,
‘til I pay for another round.

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