for the birds

new to cities, i imag­ine
the man at the fruit stand
does he know there are places where the time doesn’t change?
where ap­ples grow on trees
in­stead of carts?
has he ever sat on a porch swing
and watched the moon rise to ci­cada song?

even in the city i can miss the stars
and some­times the noise is too much
to re­mem­ber si­lence
 — or that life smells like more than a home­less man.

hey you. this is pro­gress.
only some birds are at home here.
so i guess i’ll set­tle in
in New York City i am pi­geon-col­ored.

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