Tuesday Poem: previously published by Fox Chase Review in 2010

                                                                    Ghost Flock by Alasdair Wallace

Heart of Washington Square 

When the birds fall

out of the trees behind you,

light as a cloud, when they lift in an arc,

wheel and bank right over the man you love,

as he stubbornly sits on a bench in the sun,

reading his book, while you hunch on another one

in the shade, preferring to take

the dimmer view, until those tiny wings

take flight, and your spirits rise up when they do,

as you will soon, conceding to a clearly cosmic

connection, the sparrows, their sheer velocity,

like Cupid’s arrows shot between you,

affirming that incongruous as the two of you

may be: red dwarf, white giant, ashiver, ablaze,

written by light, gently bathed in ink,

you’re part  of the same constellation, linked.