Cold, windy, bold—
a pauper in the trees
dancing in the branches,
navigating above the road.
Power lines and lamp posts,
houses and the early morning sun.
What's going on? I wonder from my stoop.
Is it the race for the last acorn,
the fight for life in the winter ahead?
No, just a mind that feeds its own.
Much more likely,
running the wires,
comprehension?
concern?
The road below,
full of energy,
the will of the world crushes onward.
SPLAT
To the school buses, commuters, and delivery drivers it's just another day.