White birds cover the sea of the parking lot;
No sails fly, and clouds are few between.
The air is hot, as they fight for rights to insects;
On oceans of cement, they drift like sailor's dreams.

White birds wait, for baking asphalts cooling;
Evening falls, and they vanish in the gloom.
Dew falls down, and with it ocean's ceilings,
While overhead, rides the face of smiling moon.