to the summit I soar and my wings are clipped
I fall thrashing and spinning.
inevitable defeat.
ground rushes in quickly,
quickly—the end.
ah blessed relief—
still, I’ll fly again.

my spirit will glide on a heavenly plain.
I’ll rise, wheeling and turning,
soaring again,
my eyes filled with morning
as dawn recreates
a new beginning—
an end to the thrashing,
relief from the spinning
seeing the world emerge from the night
fast fading gray into new shining light
ah blessed relief—
God willing, I’ll fly.

• I live in the black box
• And though in flying I crash and burn
• The story of my journey awaits
• when you open the box at my return.
• I have bounced back, remained intact.

• I live in the black box
• The shelter that held me, scattered in shreds
• The wind that guided me
• Has vanished, is dead
• I have survived, remained alive.

I live in the black box.