Morpheus

Wondering what's above, letting go what's below.

After the fourth wave,
maybe the fourteenth,
maybe it was after
the second margarita,
I morph into a frigate.

Jet black, triangular wings,
spread wide, long forked tail
that lets me sail
effortlessly and far more gracefully 
than the gulls and pelicans
clamoring below me.

I circle then soar
higher than the other
birds that mostly
just hover above the beach
then swoop down to pick apart 
the entrails of some unfortunate shark
that some fortunate fisherman  
caught and cleaned 
earlier this morning.

I circle higher and higher,
looking up and rarely down,
wondering what's above me,
letting go what's below.

I circle even higher
until I'm but a black speck
against a bright blue sky,
the horizon gives way
and Earth rises.

I circle as far as I can
and morph into a star
shining brightly
on all below,
never again 
looking down
nor wondering 
what might have been.