Weighless Cost of Joy

In the morning
when my head chatters
with the touch of night's hand

my breath is the rasp
that smooths the edges
and corners of the mind.

Inhaling with force to clear
all the garbled fear

and each exhalation
builds the wings
that will let me soar.

Thrill me.
Push me to the edge
of all knowing
so that I might launch
into the air like angels
on the faith
that the weightless
cost of joy
is simple grace
and courage.