Where the Sparrows Land
My city stands
on the line between two worlds.
the jet planes slowly fall
from their destinations far away,
forgetting me in my small green squares
and in front of me,
a different world lies
where the high flyers lose their ascent
the sky is filled with sparrows.
we see no city blocks.
The trees are full
and twisted up in knots.
The hills stretch down to rippled mirrors
and cast shadows on the sky.
Some houses are long
and some houses are short,
but none stand taller than where my eyes can see
the horizon line is not a challenge
and the silent open air
is not an invitation.
Now I stand in a Christmas tree farm
and watch the sparrows as they fly away.
Part of me says I don’t belong here.
The other wonders why I’d ever leave.