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.