the plaintive calls

in this temporary lull…

in the stall that passes for a quiet pause…

the sigh between stoplights winking…

through another relentless rumbling evening rush,
.
.
i can hear the faint… the plaintive calls.

like memories echoing down narrow windowed canyon walls

a slow whitened silhouette a blur above rooftops,

entrails across the smoke dark shroud of sky.
.
.
a lone seagull…

aloft in her weightless circles calling…

pleading our cause that carnivorous Winter release

it’s talon grip on our weathered psyches.
.
.
this colossal metropolis

frayed and weary along its steely margins,

holding a collective breath praying for relief

for signs our resolve has slain the beast.
.
.
to be home… and warm is a primal lure

and cars have little patience for an inconvenient reverie,

but i have witnessed Spring’s first inland gull

and believe her plea was not in vain.
.
.
heartened and invigorated now,

windows down i invite the viper wind

to hiss his last stinging breaths on my skin

and tangle my hair as i drive.

hearts can see

in this concrete, and its rolling steel,
this incessant clutter of continuous motion…
in the rushing hours of my city…
you either get in line or get out of the way.
there are though, many among us

living thinly on the margin,
who would, gladly…
if they only could. the
permanently uninvited, the lost
who never quite or never will…

and whether
you despise a job
or can’t wait to clock in
there is unspoken comfort
in belonging…in the queue…

of even a small cog
in something much larger…
i notice the, outside looking in…
i’m drawn to them, sigh a hopeful prayer to
those who can’t yet find a reason, untethered… because

i was them…but
the rushing hour is no time
for quiet contemplation… i sit
parked at the corner of four lanes
of one of the busiest thoroughfares in this city

i’d rather not call home. a couple walking by
clasped in an old fashioned arm-in-arm embrace
bouncing in their step and from the
waist up view i had through my windshield, they were
salt and pepper haired, past middle age.

and oh did they ever have so much to say!
their heads were bobbing, mouths moving
and walking their perfect unison. joyously oblivious…
i smiled to myself, ‘they really are in love’.
and it’s a funny thing,

we can always spot two people in love…
they turned, stopped at the corner and
he was slow swaying listening to her every word,
to the steady beat of her heart…as she
reassured her ponytail was perfectly in place.

as minutes ticked by, suddenly seeing
the two white canes brushing across the curb, waiting.
a smile replaced by concern they might
attempt to cross 4 lanes of rush hour traffic.
so, me watching the stoplight digits count down

5, 4, 3….my hand on the door
ready to intervene, help if i could but
i stopped myself… i had to,
because trust really is such a fragile thing….
2,1…and charging across the road they went

without even a care in this world, not
missing a single word of conversation, heads bobbing again
their love locked arm in arm, open heart to open heart. i watched,
exhaled, and saw them disappear slowly into the cool, close
shadow of tree canopy along the narrow street.

.
.
.
Don’t Dream It’s Over
Hey now, hey now
Don’t dream it’s over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
We know they won’t win
.