Dear Ms. Fly,
What is it like to
slam into a window, not knowing
how to pass? Does it cause questions
of other open spaces? When
you climb across, are you troubled
to find your legs
latching onto solid
nothingness? If I were in
your shoes (of being
in someone else's house), I too
would fly back
and forth
across rectangular streams
of daylight until one gave way
to the great outdoors. How I
fear for your impending
demise. How I swat at
you in love, showing freedom
with each dexterous wave. If only
our language wasn't lost
in translation,
you'd understand. But I
don't blame you. I'd fly
away too; towards the relative
safety of solid nothingness; awaiting
a time to find the outside.
