BARN OWLS

I remember flying
The child’s flight that only
Passing summers turn to fancy.

No longer clowns of gravity when
Shoestrings, pant legs, ankles, somehow
Tricked us to the ground.

Wide-eyed owls we were
At home aloft where little holds
Us but the ticklish tug of earth.

I remember flying
On golden clouds of barn-dust
But as long as breaths are

Held

Released in hollow howls of
Grey-wood laughter
At the straw-soft bottom
Of a great un-woven basket.