When letters spread their wings and fly
Deep into the blue
Or even better, into the chalk-grey-white
Sky.
They are reminded of their birthplace – Paper.
And even further of their true origin – Breath.
It is Air and Lips
Who have given them Life.
Spoken first, then written with a feather
By hand of an ancient scripter.
Liberated they’re flying again.
I watch them leaving Paper
Free of gravity reaching a faraway Soul
Whispering to their ear:
Love prevails.
