Exempt are us who fly
Except a painting they buy
Displayed in ancient Cathedrals
Lost to their rules
Too bad.
We opposite a hypothesis
Impermanent, know it
Whole universes
couldn’t change
Our scratching, aching
Still we fly, through what?
Perhaps the storm of control
The birds, even, our compatriots
Leave them behind, please, I say
Their many songs—just us taking flight
So, fly.
See you there if you come. If you can.