Vesper Sparrows
I love to watch them sheathe themselves mid-air,
shut wings and ride the light’ s poor spine
to earth, to touch down in gutters, in the rainbowed
urine of suicides, just outside Bellevue’ s walls.
From in there the ransacked cadavers are carried
up the East River to Potter’ s Field
as if they were an inheritance,
gleaned of saveable parts,