The Art of Loneliness

You can dance in a field
Of poppies burned from the sun
And still not be free.

You can waltz in a hall
With one end at the mountains
The other touching the sea
And not be caged.

You can migrate with zebras
Lose your stripes at mile fifty-three
And still be part of the herd.

You can fly with one foot
Tied to the ground by
Sunflower roots.

You can fall from the clouds
With wings married to the sky.

You can look and not see.