Then steadies itself with newly feathered wings.
Will it know when it's ready for flight?
Somewhere in my brain, a word forms
Slips out between half opened lips, not fully fledged.
Down drops the bird into an echoing silence.
Will you be there to catch us, that bird and me?
You asked me what makes a relationship?
I said I didn't know.
A peck of time perhaps, mixed with a little liking
And a very large pinch of salt.
And what of love?
How should I know?
I'm plunging down this cliff and hoping you'll be there to catch me.