I Wander Why

If singing belongs to the ephemeral, this is why I sing while walking. And never go back, actually, I never go in. Leisurely and aimless. I wonder if, wandering through. My legs are poof, and my nose is goose. My sentimental sprinkles increase the dark. I know why, I know less. I Wander Why, I wander, through my pronounced chest. (Fly over, birdy).