for the birds

new to cities, i imag­ine
the man at the fruit stand
does he know there are places where the time does­n’t change?
where apples grow on trees
instead of carts?
has he ever sat on a porch swing
and watched the moon rise to cica­da song?

even in the city i can miss the stars
and some­times the noise is too much
to remem­ber silence
— or that life smells like more than a home­less man.

hey you. this is progress.
only some birds are at home here.
so i guess i’ll set­tle in
in New York City i am pigeon-col­ored.