“I knew I could make some wings/ Because I knew the art of trying/ I had done all the passionless things/ Long practiced the poetry of implying/ This was the end of just talking/ The riotous rattling of tongues/ These were the last days of walking/ Into the boredom to come/ The inversion of flesh into feathers/ The alchemy of blood into bone/ An ascent from the tyranny of tethers/ A gravity-led life has condoned/ An act of rebellion and beauty/ The cold inquisition of light/ A caesarean birth of the notion/ The heart in its cage can take flight”/