There are lots of Birds in the Sky

I’m starting to think everyone is beautiful. Think if people were
grass and lined the Earth with little green points except for the
ocean and think if you were in the ocean and faraway from the
spikes of humanity. This would make us more appealing, would make us
not a giant trampled footstep that becomes muddy in the rain
and I’m starting to think that people are grass and that I
got stuck somewhere in the sky. The sky would be lonelier than the sea
because no one ever says, It’s okay, there are plenty of birds in the air.

Some people are pebbles and some people are even less and become
sand and I like to lie on the beach and cover my feet with these people,
cover my legs until they are sun warmed. Later I find these people
in spots I don’t want to be, in crevices that should not exist and I
shower in the water of non-humanity except that people could be
rain too or more like hail, an assault despite all the faith in the
sun shine.

Our skin is too simple and I try to apply more. We are all beautiful
in the way that there has never been an ugly lily, except that lilies
cost more money than people do. I liked bugs when I was sitting
under a pine tree, it’s trunk supporting my back, because we were
out there together, because we were having the same moment
of the same day on my island and perhaps I would like it better
if people were ugly like the ant, but not the kind that attacks my feet
as I walk, but the lone ant that crawls across the skin.