Everything is light when this feather sits besides me.
Everything goes awry when it flies away
and says each time, "You never once made me sway."
Should I have? Should the wind have?
Did I not? Did the wind not?
It is a stray feather, alright,
with no place to stay.
I put it at someplace
secure and safe.
it departs so often that,
the air smells its flight
more often than my hand-held
gentle admiration of its lightness.