Wild Child Remembered and Forgotten

Sometimes I want to scream,
fall from the sky like rain and thunder,
move freely through the air.

I want to catch myself,
run barefoot through the grass,
soft and sharp at the same time,
to a tree at the far end of a field,
where I will dwell
and play at home.

Sometimes I remember being this free,
this wild
child.

Most times I forget.