place me not with stars
for while they slide
across skies
they are brightly fixed
within their constellations
set me not with clouds
for though they drift
above it all
they are heaved across heaven
at the whim of their winds
call me not yours
for though your heart
is safe harbor
I would be sore-fettered
ensnared by your heart
rather let me be free
as birds or the sea
fleeting and sweeping
with lithe beating wings
and fond wishes of shore
© Sarah Whiteley