High dive

What was that tune?
I cannot name it now,
but do recall us flat upon our backs,
the close-cropped grass,
and baking of white sun,
a flawless sheet of sky
edged with skylarks’ call,
and feeling, for a moment,
believing that,
if gravity would just let go its parent-hold,
I’d free-fall eagle-spread –
be swallowed by the blue.

© Caroline Fox Betts 2010

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