Freedom is

 
    like getting out of school.
    I run along the footpath
    over the bridge across the creek.


When I was six
   
    my sandals were jelly-bean blue.
    I ran under the culvert
    where the water splashed.


Late home I ran

    in the middle of the night.
    The immeasurable
    hour-glass from outer space
    had landed in the yard.


   
Now

    dust-covered helicopters
    hover above the banks
    like rooks on a chessboard,
    like faceless eyes.


I run

    along the footpath
    across the bridge
    over the creek.

   
My wings' sweep
    wields the wind.