WICASTA LOVELACE

The Weight of Flesh

How I resent these stiff, tortured bones,
the aching, sweaty weight of flesh.

I would be free, formless and weightless;
a whisper on soft summer winds.

I would be strong, but incorporeal;
rolling thunder and falling rain…

Become music, and danced abandon;
slip these mortal bonds for the skies.

~ Wicasta Lovelace