Tuesday, July 10, 2012


Wings dip, beaks peck
the crumbs of other birds
dropped to the grass
below sunflower cylinders.

The ragtag flock
of bottom feeders
storm the ground
gathering beak-flings,
off-wing decisions

of claw-clinging avians
swinging in the wind-shielded
plastic motion of an urban yard.
What do they realize of the manna
that appears and disappears
in their caste-unconscious lives?

The pecking order they take
for granted, the avifauna
that binds them to terra firma
their wings could escape,
gathers them in time and space
within the sallow light
of human thought and meaning. 

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