WHAT A FLIGHT

What a flight...
I heard the words you read;
when did you learn to make me soar
on your wings?

My tarnished feathers,
my tattered beak,
replenished by your speaking

and tentative, I rise,
flapping wildly for a moment.
first comes the calm

and then comes the zephyr
that carries me now...
I lift a single feather

these wings, mine yet
somehow not mine,
react to the wind.
I dare not land
for I have no wish
to stop flying

on the current of your reading.