by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
the sense of falling
flying
strange
but welcome
passing out of range
the tendons pulled where they should be
relaxed at last and I can see
where I am
going
limbs all placed
mind unencumbered
feet, hands graced
with Your strong fingers curled around
unfurled my wings are sloth unbound
my thoughts whether responsible
respond to Your voice possible
and led so gently firmly kissed
in every cell no atom missed
Beloved I soar explore Your face
Your thoughts as I have found my place