But Few to Grass Hop

But few to grass hop.
Winter forages my brittle wings.
My birdless wings
take time~

take instars to molden
luster's Summer sunning,
unpeels them then
I'll hop~

among, unburden, grass
while Spring's going blue on blue on blue,
thin membranes come
through me~

so I lapse while I harden,
stuck Fall in nocturnal ground~
as hopper
I'll fly.