I thought I could just let you go,
but now I know
how the wind itself remembers
this silver thread
connecting you
to me
eternally—
you never needed shelter
and I never detained you
in your flight to the stars,
yet here you are—
following me like the tethered moon
across the pale blue morning.
you are pure helium,
floating and drifting
along the glittering edge
of akasha,
playing in treetops of my highest canopy
where rare birds nest,
whose feet evolved
in spiderweb delicacy
from lack of contact
with the earth—
you are the guardian
of my breath,
home of my laughter,
resting-place of my secrets
and because of this,
you will always follow me:
I who grasp the thread,
because you ask this of me.
Have you mistaken me for the star
you were programmed to seek?
Each time I release you,
you keep returning
with stories of heaven
for which you show no awe—
forsaking its splendors
for the earthly warmth of my hand.
© Psyche Marks 2008