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He Flew Through
This home is not a house so much as a building,
And only a building that covers a parking lot.
It’s open on 2 of 4 sides,
Plus corners of rusty metal panels,
Peeled and fallen over time.
This building is not used much, and is old.
The bird didn’t care, though, and flew through
Like a child on a slide, it was a fun ride.
The echo of his call in the chamber flew
On its own, with the sound of the wind,
While he flew through on the same wind.
I was not alone in there for long,
I saw another, above, then another.
These were mothers, true to their task,
Eyeing me as only mothers can,
Rustling their feathers and nests, telling me
They know my kind; cooing among themselves:
‘He’s one of those’ &
‘My, how we like him who flew through, saying hello.’
