Sink, Swim, or Soar

by Robert S. King

Age stoops me downward.
Above me I hear the swirl
of cloud and feather
that have almost
escaped the heavy earth.

Like a turtle shell
or a hollow stone,
my stiff neck curves down,
lowers my head and eyes
more familiar with soil
than with sky.

Like every body,
I am made of murky water
where swimming pretends
at flying, where I could sink,
unable to breathe below the surface.

But there also is a sky below me.
I hold my arms in diving pose.
I could jump off the cliff
and for the freefall moments,
could spread my wings.