They built the concrete nest so high

And smothered the mortar so thick

That we could never hope to caw or cry

Muffled crimson tarnished tourniquet, impenetrable

They gawk in vacant suits like hawks

Unmoved perched in towers white

Effervescent shadows in pale searchlight

Incredulous — “how could they not be

Sensitive to the ways of the world?”

Yet at dusk we stretch our naked wings

And at dawn they clench with crimson grip

Peeling away the feathered paint

Complicity purchased; resold complacently

Another twig torn from their roost

Another tally closer to breaking loose