Wednesday, September 22, 2021


In the milky sky above the square, 
the familiar almost-equilibrium 
of pigeons 

having burst from their fountain 
at the gunning 
of green light engines
now tickling the low clouds 
in undulating ripples,
diving and swooping in hapless formation—

making me 
feel restless; making me feel 

For a moment, I suppose
I would like to be 
one of them—

but no, that's not 
quite right, is it?

I'd like to be 
them all.