I didn’t throw it in,
but I didn’t swim out, either.

If you are the ocean,
certain, certain,

then I am the bird,
open, open;

we share no common
phases or forces.

Without some heaviness
it’s hard to generate lift,

and without lift we’re left
treading, treading,

so where’s the shame
in being an albatross

around a neck,
weighty, weighty,

in not being slight
in not being forgotten

in not forever
waiting, waiting?