The air shows no signs
of human progress.
Bird tongues wag
stone throws at bones.
This ninety-eight degree sunshine
is more than symbolism.
Each raindrop that fails
to hit the ground
never changes the color or temperature
of heated stones.
Familiar birds have flown away
and new ones have replaced them.
There is the option to move north.
They never imagined all of us.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney