the gifts of the elders never got through the mail
we lost our shoes our hopes our heads
in this silent war

flung into the blue
the owl turned its wing
and self-doubt descended as neurosis to
pulvorize our future

but courage is the nature of our sanity
connection the lunatic heroism of the child

we are the threads the silver cord
to the wisdom of messages thought lost:

the language of the birds
the joy of the beginning

innocent
and incredibly
possible and free