Like a young fledgling falcon, perched upon the tree of mind,
The wide-open empty sky is big – with nothing real to hold on to.
Soaring and flight is effortless, joyful, right and free,
Just this scary business of letting go of this tree of the known.
Or, he could choose, follow fear deeper within the mind-tree’s shade,
And pretend that this net of branches fills the sky’s mystery, and holds him safe.
This net of images of the known is empty and filled with sky,
Gently, it’s time to say goodbye, and let this net fall away limply,
And let go to the soaring permanence of a star’s flight.