At the Park


They move away from the sky
to surround a certain park bench.
Everyday, at noon, a hand is there
with the bread.


A crow with a treasure
in its beak, hops away from the rest,
to a nearby puddle. It stares
at the water before dipping
its bread, and swallowing.


Noon again, the birds wander
around the grass, heads cocking
and making noise–their hand is gone.


A head emerges from a hole
in the bush, its eyes wary
of the world’s movement.
Its furry body appears
in the open.


Rabbits wait underneath
the park benches.  The swings
have stopped moving.


Squirrels journey from their tree,
past the bike wrapped in rust.


A small dog walks alone across the grass
followed by a pink leash, into
the brown hawk’s vision.


The birds have flown,
marking the sky with their formations
and the rabbits cross the empty road.

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