Still, the sky, even absent of its messengers seems to wait, remembering flight and us beneath it and the everlasting concrete, within blinking gaze of shuttered blinds where we could not put our words to work, where I looked for dreams in sleep between these buildings and us within their walls and our voices and the birds with us calling back and the cats who would crouch to attack the winged singers and later learn with talons in furred backs to accept their gentle weight, keeping company close when it comes, even here.
Midday Complex
Noon light with concrete.