If I ever learn to whisper with the wind
I should hope to never unlearn that.
So, when I tell my secrets
they will fly far away
and belong to the fickle tempest
that calls on clouds.

If I ever learn the language of falling snow
I will sing to the snowflakes
and tell them stories of spring
so perhaps, melting
will not seem so damning.

If I ever learn to capture the freedom
of the dark.
I should hope I let it go.
that I swallow my fear and taste the same
freedom without trapping it.

One day, I dearly hope:
I will experience heat
bitter cold, encasing breeze
impossible, billowing darkness
and light.
and not hold onto them and miss
the songs of the things I have yet to feel.

If I ever learn all the
miraculous, painful– delicate intricacies
of what it means, not to be human
but to be alive. I should hope
I feel everything.