Birdsong Changes with the Landscape

I don't know where I'm going,
but I fling myself there.
Feet crusted and dirty,
my body so tired
if I stand still I will melt
softly into the dead grass.
I'm terrified of transition--
but the glistening teeth
of the stagnant beast
slice lazily at listless feet.
Faced with the impossible task
of standing still
I bare my fragile heart
and fly.

This is my entry for One Shot Wednesday. Click here to see others.