A poem of freedom

When I look up,
the sky is mine.
It is no bigger than I
because it can
be caressed and held close
like a lover,
and still bigger
so that freedom is
soaring in hot currents
where there are no
directions, no course plotting,
no up or down or
earth to abort life.
Just sky,
to be touched
and molded until
its breath is mine
and my lungs hold in
blue air
then let it go
to run after with
new life.