praying hour

the black birds come like a panicked sea

in an opaque sky, traverse time or

bring something past to the present

as all birds do, dinosaurs that they are.
take their seats on roof-tops
facing the direction
of the valley 

the city falls inside.

they wait to watch 

the falling:

as usual traffic on the main street

people walk along the square

statues of men stand by

waiting for lamps to illuminate 

un-compromised history

flags wave in the wind

and a large screen plays

moving images 

of government officials

miles away.

they speak as they fly past the balcony

on the sixth floor-

a language forgotten.

i understand nothing of their cawing

their discussions, disagreements

their fights, expressions 

of hunger or thirst

or if they are singing 

their dreams, their memories

perhaps an ode 

to flying.

maybe they are complaining: 

what has man created

from concrete 

souls burdened with guilt

carrying everyday like an obligation

bricks and stones to build

structures that have taken over

minds deemed superior

to instinct

for kindness.

and then the song begins

reaching from dome structures

through the windows 

of a sky

as if to justify 

what is human

to what is not.