Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan

Flight

The vast blue night brings me close 
to the spectacle of the moon as an
owl's eye in the sky, & the blistering 
pace of the shooting stars shows me
the nobility of an escape in the
manner of bruised fireflies. It was
for nights of deep-purple lilies,
of waxy light, dizzy rivers & I swear,
I didn't fake it: I stood there, witnessing 
the timbre of landscape-warmth, thinking 
myself a bird because I needed the flight 
so bad, I had to cut myself a sea of air 
to fix me a wing or something worthy of it.
I recall the early feathered kite of 
my boyhood that pulled through the 
lush green of my mother's garden & 
I wanted to be turned free into my own
wide open without a single grip of gravity.

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