The Taste of Sky

Let me breathe
somewhere deep.
The scraggy mountains
call to me,
entreating why
I do not run
or leap, or bound
or climb their limbs.
Breathe.
And taste the line
where sky and stone
meet.

But my feet are soft,
the mountains far
and my body lax
with care.
For while I leap
and dance about
who would tend
the crops, the babes,
the golden green
of a less kind world?

Oh, let me breathe,
deep, deep,
till I can taste
that sky.

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