Birds Make Holes in Heaven

Birds are here to make holes in Heaven
Through which our souls may fly.

This morning mine fluttered and flapped,
Struggled to gain altitude against
The anchors of memory and attitude.

The dog thinks it time to take me
Out to the forest again
So I can watch and learn, see her lose herself
In the Mountain Laurel and streams,
Yet emerge in happiness in her true self.

I’ll walk behind her to where
I’m going and stand still, like the Blue Heron,
Who misses nothing in the stream, yet waiting for
A passing uplifting breeze.