On a spring day so
pleasant, it's downright
alarming,
my weird, distracted
thoughts fly away, and I'll pray
to god—please turn me
into a bird, make me
a slender and golden American
eagle;
not so I can fly far,
but so I can learn how
to stay here
on the lawn—milling around
when it's not
my default, quiet,
calm,
disarmed completely,
and gradually disappearing
into the innocuous,
egg-yellow
background.
