I used to fly; I remember this. How to unfold winged hope and enfold the wind in free-falling trust.
I remember thinking the sky all empty space. This can make a sparrow brave.
I remember believing that the wind and faith were enough. How did I forget?
How is it possible — that fear can make you forget how to fly?
How do you remember joy — when some life sliver pierces through your wild pulse?
How does a small sparrow in a wide world extend the brief span of her wings and let go — to climb higher?