Song of Orville Wright

At midnight by the high-strung moon
owls in tree-homes watch the night
until they have reason to fly.
Shadows cast across the floor:
your eyes grow dark, and then you sigh.
This will never be your home.

You cannot call this dark house “home”:
there are no trees and no moon.
The air around you seems to sigh,
So throughout the long, dark night
you stare at the kitchen floor.
Maybe someday, you could fly.

Now in your night-dreams, you can fly
ignoring the beckons home,
away from ground and dirt and floor.
Go to sky and stars and moon,
and let them keep watch of the night.
You can leave this earthly sigh!

The wind lets loose a chilling sigh,
daring owls to swoop and fly.
He scoops up mice and bugs at night,
eats them before going home,
and rests until the next high moon
on the bones that dress the floor.

You turn to footsteps on the floor,
and your girl lets out a sigh.
She says to not think of the moon,
men do not have wings to fly.
She tells you this place is your home;
stay here safe all through the night.

You lie awake in bed all night.
Pillows feel as hard as floor.
Convince yourself this is not home.
Rustling trees and windy sigh
and birds and bats spin as they fly
under pale beams of the moon.

Lost at home, desp’rate sigh,
pace the floor, want to fly,
in the night, ‘neath the moon…


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