quickening

at two years
still folded up into himself
looking out, laughing, leaning out
but still coiled
in his animal-unknowing

at three and a half or four
for the first time
he flies out of his body
like a little bird falling scared
from a high branch
dizzy with the sudden swoop
catching itself in the air
just above dead leaves

litter and hum
of a forest floor

in a dream he flies into his own chest
sees his story writing itself
sees woods, wild animal faces
and he is fascinated
by his size
his power
his movement
who he is

now will come his first clear memory

and here
is his first moment of love
before the wind catches him up
and sends him hurtling