I was born once, and with the birds. Naked in the spring, black eyed and eager for mother.
When I flew, it was upward, toward that endless unreachable blue ceiling. The sun, laughing at me from his distant chariot.
And when the stars arrived, they burned in me where the innumerable goals burn. Reflecting on my insides to make me as wide as the universe.
As a bird, all I know is to fly.
And I will never be done flying.