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A Lifting Of Birds

Hard as an empty factory, a sea of glass
eaves brown with rust and first rain

squares of light oblongate through broken panes
as the day creeps, almost a church service

with the soft thrashing of pigeon wings,
shadows across blackened brick

as an oil moon creeps over a battered roof
and a grey steel door bangs an obscure tact

with the first cold green starting, newspapers
and plastic bags flattering like shot birds

encoded by grease, a naked lightbulb swings over
an empty chair, the evening breeze failing

there is little hope here, nothing too much to save,
just the idle gathering of soot and distant traffic.

poem by Leslie Philibert
Added by Poetry Lover
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