Flight

I sit and watch the sparrow

Picking at the seeds.

He chips and skips

And tosses some away.

The sparrow’s free

To flee and see

What’s in the world to see.

Chittering and flittering,

He makes a joyful mess.

He crooks his head aside

And stops.

A moment’s pause.

Then off he shoots,

A zipper opening space and time.

He’s gone; he’s clean away.

While here I sit.