Air Under Wing

To feel the blow of four winds, escape
is not needed to unfeel. My fire wing rises
as my love of flight with them.
This is unfolding.

Allowing for turbulence, adjusting
tips to tail, carving out a path
of ease inside and traverse without.
This is direction.

As super-heated meets updraft, splendor.
I sail up and up, taking in cloud and sapphire
kissing the very edge of Heaven.
This is bliss.

Dizzying thin air allows release of infernal muscle,
tension to release, I fold them
close as I become falling arrow…
This is the trust.

Head rising to meet level, I unfurl
a fire hawk in spread glory
received to hold in cooling breeze
This is my beauty.

You the winds I ride.
That is love.

Chris Whitenack © 2014