Through the rain

and all the clatter,

under the Freemont bridge,

I saw a pigeon fly,

fly in fear

from a raptor

come to take its life.

Does it closed

and for the captured,

I funnel the fear through my ancient eyes.

See in flight

where I know all the bitter mechanics of life.

Under my hat,

it breathes,

the lines are all imagined.

A fact of life

I know

to hide from my little girls.

I know my place amongst

the bugs and all the animals.

And it's from these ordinary people

you were longing to be free.

In my hotel,

and on the TV,

a pitcher on the stage

like a buzzard cries

out a warning,

a phony sorrow.

He's trying to get a rise.

Sign of life

of an almot.

Let him look at your hands,

get the angles right.

Ace of spades,

Port of Morrow,

life is death

is life.

I saw a photograph

of Cologne in '27,

and then a postcard after the bombs in '45.

Must have been a world of evil clowns

that let it happen.

But now I recognize,

dear,

in these eyes,

that you were there

and so was I.

Under my hat, I know

the lines are allimagined.

A fact of life,

I must impress my little girls.

I know my place amongst

the creatures

in the pageant.

And there are flowers

in the garbage,

and a skull

under your curls.