While Walking

while walking,
sometimes
I feel held
between
the grass and stones
beneath my feet,
and the blue emptiness
that draws my winged heart
to itself;
and sometimes,
I feel held
by the warmth
of another human,
palm against palm,
between the grass and stones
beneath our feet,
and the blue emptiness
that draws our winged hearts
to itself,
while walking.

Looking

and as I looked out
of the rolled up window,
I saw people on the street
walking into their histories -
in their awkward, scurry,
in the dragging of their bodies,
in the hunch of their shoulders,
or in the heavy set of their jaws;
and I wondered how different
their stories would be,
if only they could
listen with their eyes,
touch with their ears,
smell with their hands
and see with their feet.