Because they crowd the corner
of every city street,
because they are the color
of sullied steel,
because they scavenge,
eating every last crust,
we do not favor them.
They raise their young
huddled under awnings
above the liquor store
circle our feet, pecking at crumbs
pace the sidewalk
with that familiar strut.
None will ever attain greatness.
Though every once in a while
in a tourist’s blurry snapshot
of a grand cathedral
they rise into the pale gray sky
all at once.
Posted by kind permission of the poet.
Photo by Jakub Pabis/Unsplash.
The network of caverns inside my heart has enough rooms for in-laws and aging parents….
White-throated sparrows dart in and out of the hedgerow, their sweet long notes rising above…
And if it’s true we are alone, we are alone together, the way blades of…
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