far fetched

to be drawn in, by thought,

so thoroughly, 

as if immersed and absorbed.

wanting to experience overall acceleration, 

as if in the wind-dialogue

of a flacon's lead-wing feather,

penetrating the sky, 

while probing the wind flow,

for the cross-currents 

of the ever-approaching. 

inscribing the curvature in flight

with the assistance of beeline visual intent,

while also being keenly aware, 

of the dynamic differences 

of that feather experience,

as if introspectively mine.

noting the differences 

between that wing in flight 

and it in wing-fold.

to live in the constancy of both,

of that penetrative forwardness of flight,

while ever-present in the restive presence

of the wing-fold.

and to be that astute,

as  feather awareness of both.

the two, 

while in downward fast-track pursuit, 

as well as high perched, 

gleaning of passive fresh air.

oh for the wisdom of lead feather design.

experiencing, 

either sky-bound resourcefulness

or eye-piercing perched passive restfulness.

for the wind is intimate conversation, 

either way.

either speed reading the air-current, 

presenting face forward

or appropriately watchful, 

restfully alert but wing-bound serene.

to be beak-preened 

in the passivity of calm-override

or to feel breakneck speed, 

with feather dusted 

by the passing of air force.

wake me, when I've landed.

tell me, I sort of phased out.

and I will agree,

as if time spent,

as a species, 

far from my own . . .