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
Spreading them,
In my dreams? I’m on the ground floor
Straight backed
Toes uncurled
Eyes ahead.
And circled by people who don’t have to tug on my strings to keep me
Down here.
Balloon brained.
Let me go?
I won’t stop till the moon holds me.
I dream of a sound that comes in bellows,
Breathless,
All the noise that follows it hollowed,
Heard in the rough and felt-like cawing,
No more.
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.
But I?
I came with wings,
And clawed at the feet,
And so wide-eyed,
I’ll dream.
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