Anchoring

If I had hollow bird bones,

you’d find me

in the corner,

filling them with buckshot.

Oh, I still want to fly.

Far up, higher

and higher

until blue air thins

and lungs catch fire

for scarcity

but you know

I’d never

come back down.

Weigh me here

with heft,

with burden,

crow’s feet

that never leave

the earth.