Drift by Ada Limón

Some blur of a bird makes a kid-like laugh out of sea air and we, heart-hardy, kick a crack-up back at it like the opposite of throwing stones. Like releasing tiny hot air balloons up, moon-bound and hell-bent on defying the usual gravity of this spin. Sky, here, we toss a bone into your open endlessness, the sound of crackle, a timbre of animal-warmth. Oh let us be a bird flying wholly for the sake of flying, to be that breath- machine that even the anchored earth-bound wavers want to root for, want to look up and say, Rally, rally, win.

— Bright dead things by Ada Limón (Page 71)