Treads like fingers leave
prints on wet surfaces
in snow, rain or Spring,

Footprints take striding shortcuts in Summer,
to beat the heat, across the asphalt black Earth-
top and broken white striped runner,

Sounds like layers of
whispers get trapped
in the branches of trees
until the leaves Fall,

Wings, cup to spill and milk the most out of
cluttered cacophony and coldest Winter air,
silent above it all, my constant boulevard,
my search is for wings.