The glint of the sun is sharper than the wing
as it cuts the tufted blue troposphere of earth.
She is smaller, yet grander than I remember.
The patchwork, field and farm, I remember,
the forests, and the lakes under a steady wing,
the lift and the drag, and the consent of earth.
A man once, but his luggage is there, on earth.
Now aerial and feathered, will she remember,
as I vault the empyrean, turning on a wing?
A bird, wind over wing, I have left the earth. Remember?