In the canyon’s strong March winds,
The girl in the pink princess
Dress over blue trousers shrills
Her toddler delight, arms wide
To the gusts buffeting her,
Pure physicality, or
Has already taken hold,
And she shouts to her father
That she’s flying, she’s flying,
And she speculates the wind
Might be strong enough to sweep
Down a bird’s nest she’s spotted
In the still-leafless ash tree.
She covets that nest. She wants
To hold it, look into it.
We need the wind to be strong
To blow the nest down! She shouts
To her observing father,
The mind in her mind flying.