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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