Greyhound Station

Above us

sparrows flit, dive, and soar

uncompellingly and impolite, as always

amused with their effortless power

mocking us, who interfere with the thoughts

and muttering of yellow-grey tiles

​

Above the daily commotion

of strangers, although uninteresting,

sparrows of brown and various shades of grey

seek shelter in semi-sphere lights

hung from the rafters, methodically

building homes from discarded wrappers

and cardboard scrapings

​

You stand next to me in line

holding what could be my arm, firmly

as if it was all that kept you

on the ground

​

Summer Evening

A project never complete