Listen Bird

Sometimes it seems
if I let anyone see
the secret little world
I call my own
I'd shrivel up
like a grape in the sun
until there was only seed.

Sometimes it seems like it's only me in the world,
a shade of what I could have been,
wandering,
turned crooked
(on the side of the phone
that stone chat,
that fell,
what could have been a crow).

Then there's times
I know
the right call --
know I don't have to hide.

So I got in a cab
thinking thank you for the listen bird
and leaving feathers behind and
pattered small feet on the windows
while the driver laughed.

I thought of you.

My soul breathed and listened to the world around me.