This city, at dawn
Belongs to the birds, and I trust them
Far more than an app on my phone; I know
If suddenly a thousand wings frantically pummel the air
Outside my open window
My soul will follow them
No gentle, soft things,
Practical, stoic things, they are warriors
And I feel protected under their wings.
They are busy at serious business this morning
A silly, yapping dog across the redandyellow rooftops knows this
He's concerned
They're convening their war council
Making their plans; I'm an interloper
Who wandered blindly into their territory
They know this
I've heard them talking, and
I'm grateful my hosts have bigger fish to fry.
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