walking gingerly
through pigeons, trying not to
spur applauding wings
walking gingerly
through pigeons, trying not to
spur applauding wings
pigeons seem to find
this abandoned L platform
fine
I spend a morning
dreaming birds—unlikely hues
in harmony
grasping
a refrigerator egg
is unhatched
scanning
the heavens for sparrows
singing on the wing
chicken gizzard—
rubbery, endlessly
eternal
even one-wing
limp, no bird outlives
desire
a January
bird shrieks—loneliness, it’s own
havoc
waking
mid-realization—birds
have moved out
do sparrows
wonder if they’ve spoken
too truthfully?