bird feet

birds fly on sundays, their
wings swoop and swallow,
their melodies trickle from
trees, their tiny feet
tiptoe with scintillating speed
across the sidewalk. i
saw them, three of them, today
flying with the smallest
wings, together, their
melodies trickling, the tips
of their toes raised and brushing against
the wind. my own love abides
strictly to the laws of gravity,
it stays incorrigibly
inside, stuck there,
bird feet in a puddle of
corn syrup, the sugary stick clutching
tiny toes, mute and mangled,
alive but asleep.

DLS