i receive the cat birds that frequent the oak
tree in the alley between greylock
and 49th as friends although i am
not theirs, and can never be

their friend is the flimsy oak
which stretches and groans with
every new perch
because it is dying
and the city is killing it
which is my city

my every greeting falls on deaf ears
not only because we don’t speak
the same language but also
the big city birds don’t have
the same fondness for the people
of the city as they do in the country

the city is killing everything
they love
i am lucky they do not
attack me

and it goes on and on like this
my romantic and naive love
blowing away in the cold january wind
exactly like a leaf