yesterday
On my morning jog
the sky was grey and rain fell tepid
and I wished for things I may never get
I avoided cracks, avoided people
Making wide detours around bus stops
I ran past graffiti walls and gas pumps and buildings
with cement balconies
and it made me heavy, these heavy things
I came to the Quarry and slowed my pace
And ran alongside its wired fence and rusted locks
all spread out this ground and marsh
Back all the way to the railroad tracks.
I keep forgetting how much I like this space
I first noticed four sparrows
each perched in a green wired diamond
of the fence -
behind them a brown wet muskrat
sat amongst long, winter-bleached straw
and on the water, balanced half horizontal
on a four-seasoned bullrush,
a red winged black bird
cocked a radiant head
I slowed some more and forgot the city
Ignored the fence, ignored the black tires submerged
In streaks of coloured water
ignored the turned over shopping carts,
the reams of white paper and broken glass
for a moment I let myself see
an urban field of beast and bird and flower
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