and light.
If feathers grew from my arms,
I would take flight.
I would fly to fields of gold.
To the cottonwood trees
and their reaching arms,
their leaves shimmering in
an eastbound breeze-
snowing cotton that covers the ground.
I’d fly to Redwater and Sand Creek.
I would fly in the night;
a speck among stars--
carry the Milky Way on my back.
I’d fly under the endless sky--
I would reach the clouds
and feel the sun.
I’d let that Wyoming wind carry me
far away--
wherever it pleased.
I’d let that Wyoming wind
set me free.