The poetry of rising is the poetry of upward mobility. It belongs to the sun, the moon, the mythical phoenix, hot air balloons and don’t forget — bread baking in the oven. Also paper kites, rattling elevators and the fluent rush of steam from a tea kettle. Superman in his red cape. Not to mention hope — the thing with feathers — that cannot be grounded like a plane at the San Francisco airport (no matter how thick the fog).

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: