When the birds wake you

shortly before dawn


the ground rumpling beneath a spread

wing and raucous cry. You know


that you are happiest

with the ground beating 


up at you. Unsettled

in your bed and listening for what might—


a bit of clear sky dislodged and falling

to you. You’ve rutted


the sky as you’ve crossed it, brought the earth

up with you. Smug in its layer


of grainy low wind and you

shrugging in your dewy comforter. Your flight


that of a snake-in-the-bush 

or a fish-in-the-water.