The Air as if It's Water

Birds and butterflies aren't thrashing around, flying like drowning creatures. This this is their medium. They're comfortable there. It supports them as water supports us. Softer. Softer than what? Softer than that. Let's hear the conclusion of this poem. We only have one stanza left. Where's it going to take us? I'll read the last two stanzas together like one in danger. Cautious. He unrolled his feathers and rowed him sofer home. Then oars divide the ocean to silver for a seam or butterflies off banks of noon leap, plashless as they swim.