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.