A bird in the twilight hues lands on the
angry twist of a barb on a cyclone fence.
It's flown high above and capable of
capturing sights far beyond me.
Watch it still support its life over death
with no weapon but legs.
It might catch the wind at any second
with wing beating hard for its escape.
A thought crosses my mind
that it must be common for those
with the means to come
scratching their wrists to relinquish
their privilege and tongue
with the spear face to face.