by Jared Pearce —
The herd of sparrows in the yard bends,
Breaks, then coalesces again, following
And leading, losing and finding each other
To blend and vie, serve and dominate.
I don’t know what their tribe has in place
For sexual misconduct. I don’t know
What stories they tell about longing
For home. I’m not sure they’re good
Analogues. I can see their hunger
And their flight, their vulnerable mastery.
When they scatter at my approach,
I work to decipher their language
Etched in the loose top soil, easily
Meaningless, mysterious, and erased.