To fly

Oh to fly, to breath
the tempered clouds and leave
the contemplative earth behind.
Oh to fly, to hear only the exultant air,
to be my resplendent efforts
and become the abstract deity of sight.
To be the artificial God
lording over all I see from afar.
The choral song from the glade,
where my comrades nest for the summer,
leaves me standing
as the flight of gods begins.
The cacophonous harmony
Flees on its wings of sound.