She looks up at the birds.
The sun chisels yellow
spears to flash among
impenetrable blue. A
mallet of light strikes
bone, opaque through
feathers.
She looks up at the birds.
Sees arms pushing up an
awful weight with a written
plea, mouths open, tears
crossing faces, committed
to hard concrete and a
gray flame of fires curling
across the day done sky.
Watching their brown blades
sweep the invisible, she
wishes for seen; brown eye to
blue eye, an exchange of
tired breath for a wing beat of
free air or even to see change,
from heaven.
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