The infant wants milk, love, a lap, a lock of your hair, the glitter from the lake, even the moon. The child wants a friend, a fort, time to play. The youth seeks to divide and conquer, climb, achieve, win, subjugate, wills to power and overpower, even to exert the power and influence to reject and scorn. But then one day, whether by choice or force, the adult releases, accepts, empowers others. Let my bones be a bridge, my hair the buttresses in a nest, my dreams wings for the creatures that fly. Let my words be the ripples that resonate in the pond and then, more thinly, more obliquely, in the air, though I have no breath.