Stationary Glide

When the wind catches, Their outstretched wings, Birds glide, suspended in space.

I’d guess, they laugh to themselves As the rush of air Buoys them and holds them, Propels them and frees them.

When my own breathing Catches A hidden edge Of balance, And lifts me Muscle by muscle, Bone by bone, To a hold Previously unreachable I chuckle inwardly.

Not quite as graceful As a gliding gull, But hey.