This is the first poem I ever wrote, as part of a writing class at the community college where I now work, back in 1996. We were supposed to write a poem based on something we had read, and I had just read "How I Met My Husband," by Alice Munro, in a literature class.

The Flyer

And he speaks to me of autumn,
and of summers near-forgotten,
and of springtime,
and of mountains in the snow

and he's always been a flyer,
since his parents could remember,
and he's always known
just what it is to go

on ice-blue waves of skylight
and beatitude of flight.
He's been captured by the wind
and he has flown into the night.

And he says he'll never leave me
but he flies off anyway
to the bosom of the lover
he esteems above all others,
flies up into bright, blue sunlight
and away.