A common question that people often ask:

What superpower would you have, no cape or no mask?

I always know instantly what I would choose:

The ability to fly, not a scrape or bruise.

Like a small meadow mouse, I avoid all in my way:

So tell me why I still fall on the ground, tumbling away?

My clumsiness unparalleled, some flight might reprieve:

The stubbed toes on tables, the scraped skin on knees.

There is more to flight than the action of not falling:

Perhaps the incendiary consumption of all the clouds calling?

I truly believe that no one is free of this inescapable dream:

The velvet syndicate blowing in tandem with me and sunbeams.

The idea repowers the curiosity within me:

Are there wonders untold above, and can there even be?

There must be something up there, I can’t be untold:

A childlike persona envelopes me, no matter how old.