by Chris Ernest Nelson
I feel a gravity in all living beings
enticing me to become them.
The rain falls on my frisking leaves,
my branches besotted with content.
The wind touches me as it lifts the
gull’s wings to greet the rolling storm.
I become the panting spotted dog,
tugging at his master’s leash, his feet
slipping on the puddled pavement–
The wide-eyed child on her mother’s hip,
our eyes meet, but the mother looks away.
I am her own, not some stranger to fear.
Flitting and pecking the bleak concrete
for some insignificant crumb to eat,
I am the tiny brown sparrow, who’s
markings are more intricate and more
mysterious than any poem. I am not
afraid to approach the monster I appear.
I perch upon a branch near enough for
him to touch me, if he but reached out.
I dance around his feet, because there
might…
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