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.