morning in the grass

i sit in the grass and am disturbed
at how close the passerbys come
triangulating me from their sidewalks
whipping me with their whispers
their wallets, appointments pulling
their snickering at my bare-feet
in the grass in the shade of the trees
i look up at the branches above me
and see a finch flutter and land
and whistle the secrets of happiness
and the passerbys pass by while i
sit nye and whistled back
to the feathered angel above me.