Here is a poem, sent to me, worthy of repeating.

"Designed to Fly"

by Ellen Waterston


After ten hours of trying

the instructor undid

my fingers, peeled

them one by one

off the joystick.

"You don't need

to hold the plane

in the air," he advised.

"It's designed to fly.

vA hint of aileron,

a touch of rudder,

is all that is required."


I looked at him

like I'd seen God.

Those props and struts

he mentioned, they too,

I realized, all contrived.

I grew dizzy

from the elevation

from looking so far

down at the surmise:

the airspeed of faith

underlies everything.

Lives are designed

to fly.

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