Starlings

Snarls, bread trucks, yeast breathing inside huddled bags, and sleepers completing lives behind their gray windows. A whistle on the phonewires, feathers, twitches, whistling down to the hot loaves. Reeds everywhere, pulse, flesh, flutes, and wakened sighs. An answer. Radio news and breathers behind our windows, birds’ new voices changing, changed, to the unforgiving hunger screech of immigrants.