the migrating
barn swallows
as they bed down
for the evening in the cart
outside the store.
But when I ask them
to elaborate, they only keep
repeating themselves,
so I continue
through the lot alone
on my pedestrian chore.
Though admittedly
a little more
slowly than before—
thinking, after all,
I've got things
to get done,
and others
to get over—
but also, now
a few
on which to land
until tomorrow.
