Between branches, I watch the strange white birds
Dance in the foliage beside the street,
Each curved neck bending time and searching
For the creek that was lost, the foreign trees
That now loom.
Are you a profusion, they ask one another, or
A question without an answer;
Their curved necks punctuate the silence,
Flickering light in the trailing green of where
The sidewalk ends.
Of course, there is no answer, only plumes
Unfurling like a brilliant flower from our behemoth
Civilization; beside a paved road
Two strange white birds move, until with
Startled wings, rise.