Will the end be reached
With a clear head ready
For the clouds—
I want nothing in my hands
But certain amity
With what my back carries.
I wish to remove the led
From my shoes but in
The early hours, I slip
Them in unknowingly.
I’m sorry clouds.
I know to leave the weight
Behind and I’m working
Toward being a feather—
Easily carried by the sky’s
Breath to meet you in bliss.