Flight
Such a miracle: those first steps to flight
taken by the cormorant over water.
That first one heavy, creating ripples,
the second one lighter, and the third one
scarcely touching the water.
The need to take flight lies deep within me.
Fleeing from what? Flying towards what?
Who knows? All I know is that the future
lies ahead where my bird’s beak points and
the past, a rippling wake, lies behind me.
That white water, trailing its kite’s tail,
tells me where I have been. Machado’s
voice calls out from the past: “Traveler,
there is no road, just a wake across life’s sea.”
Comment: The photo is a golden oldie, one of the first I ever posted on this blog. The poem is part old, part new. In reality, it is a revision, completed today, of the earlier poem associated with that old blog post. It is interesting to compare the two visions – with those seven extra years of creative experience between them. Let me know what you think!
A special thank you to my long-time friend, Dale Estey, for commenting and suggesting an improvement for the fourth line. Spot if if you can!
rogermoorepoet 
Very lovely. ☺️
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Thank you for visiting and so glad you like it.
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Que bonito.
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Se lo agradezco – y gracias por la visita tambien. Siempre me gusta emplear mi espanol – para no olvidarlo.
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Beautiful poem
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Thank you so much. Such images linger long in the mind are well worth revisiting. I am glad I can still do so.
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I’m enjoying reading your poem. Keep writing beautiful words.
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Again I thank you – encouragement is so important, as is enjoyment.
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Beautiful, as usual, Roger. I love the photo also. I’m wondering now where my flight will take me, while giving serious thought to what’s happening in the present. Some changes have to be made but I’m wondering if I can find the courage to make them.
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Touching . . . the water.
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