a plaintive note, the ringing call of tiny
sparrows, heard across the field. their mouths
open in eager voice: come sing, carouse,
let freedom fly with us! and poor, shy me,
i cannot tell the birds why i can't fly:
for lack of wings, or heart, or maybe air.
my feet don't leap, or skip about, don't dare
to even dance. i hear the sparrow's cry
and dread the heartache that ensues. her breast
is full of gloried sky, mine full of weight
and heat. so fresh from urban pace and light,
it's strange to feel at peace: the world at rest,
complacent in its oval path. her mate
joins from above, and i can't trace their flight.