A sudden shower blew down the street this morning
following the news from Cairo
about protest and the usual
analysis of what it means
for this country when another country’s president
has fallen. The sparrows in the oleander
don’t stop singing all day.
Birds in cities
around the world are growing louder
to overcome traffic noise. Some have begun
to forage at night. There is no curfew
for birds when change
roosts beside them. British sparrows
are declining. When presidents disappear
there are new ones easily found
but even familiarity
cannot save the sparrows and nobody
is saying what it means for us
when another country’s birds are falling.
Day of Desert Winter
It’s cold today like broken glass,
like a raven’s lost call
flying, like the crack
in a porcelain cup that has nowhere to stop
and grows into a faultline
across the desert where the wind
can’t find a foothold
and cuts its teeth on the bones
an owl coughed out in the dark.
The light on a dry riverbed freezes over.