The squeaky shiny hinges,
like from oiled engines' roars,
or swooshing green propellers,
like lions' chases after wild boars.
Or purring of the rubber wheels,
like my boots through forest snow,
and wings like condors soaring black,
and calling to the earth below.
They bring themselves to heavens pearly gates,
and let themselves be free,
They fly through rains, they fly through winds,
and then they fly to me, in dreams.