Vail. B. Edwards
I want to dance like the stray birds that forgot it was nightfall.
Our bodies don’t move in graceful ways,
but flutter to the sound of rustling leaves.
Our feathers will fall from our bodies
and onto the plush grass below.
And if by chance, a fox were to taunt us,
we would not make a sound.
We would continue swaying and flying,
the tips of our toes never leaving the wooden stage.
We cannot perform leaps or bounds,
but we could glide with the softest of winds.
Yet I cannot dance, only write.
Nor can you sway, only sing like a jaybird.
But we would feel God in each other’s touch
as we fall into the jaws of the Predator.