Landing

The bus is a square of yellow light

hissing at the corner.

I have to watch my step,

avoiding the grey bundle of feathers

pressed into the concrete.

Nobody looks down.

The feet are tiny, yellow needles

pointing at the power lines

where the rest of them are sitting

waiting for the wind to change.

I catch the door just as it folds.

My heart is a frantic, trapped thing,

but the bird is finished with the air.

It’s found the only solid thing

this city has to offer.