Before

Before I knew how to wear my new skin, I was pieces hanging on the workshop wall.

Before I was pieces on the wall, I was drawings in a book.

Before I was drawings in a book, I was free, sailing the air, a part of everything yet able to hover about the edges.  I played in the sky and rustled the leaves of the tallest trees.

Fort Lowell Cottonwoods

Now that I wear this clumsy skin, I bump and and ache.

This realm is so solid and unforgiving.