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I catch myself wondering at footsteps.
The clunk thud clunk thud and
The crunching of leaves.
Clouds don’t crunch, much as I might like sticking my head in them
Flapping my wings in them,
Catching a breeze like a hitchhiker,
Thumbs out and
In my dreams? I’m on the ground floor
And circled by people who don’t have to tug on my strings to keep me
Let me go?
I won’t stop till the moon holds me.
I dream of a sound that comes in bellows,
All the noise that follows it hollowed,
Heard in the rough and felt-like cawing,
Not that whistled, wind-tipped roaring.
I dream that I roll in it
Mud-like, I want for a sound
That catches on me, not me getting caught in it,
When I’m folded,
Inside the tree-bough night, an afterthought,
I wonder at the long-legged,
Fearsome of the floor.
Flights of my day, set,
I lollop, knee deep in the grass.
I came with wings,
And clawed at the feet,
And so wide-eyed,
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