Poem: Flying

When you’re this high, stoned on life’s bounty — the goodness and sweetness and righteousness of love and laughter and pleasure —

the rewards of being alive

uncomplicated by quotidian worries or small concerns…

When you’re this high your soul takes wing, gliding on currents of nectar,

on pillows of contentment.

You soar.

Must we ever land?

The sky goes on forever.

Why can’t we?

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