Flying Between Falling

A Poem

Flying Betwen Falling

I’m well aware I try to fly 
like leaping fleas, with legs too heavy

kicking feet, before committing 
                           to crawling, 

but it’s hard to stop this habit. 
The ground I cover before the crash, 

is vast. The perspective grasped
before failure, wide.  

I can always crawl-to walk-to run later. 
But I don’t want to 
                    get comfortable on the bottom.

I prefer thin air,  my head in the clouds, 
open sky, and birds around.

N.J. SIMAT

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