Are they crows or are they ravens?
Blackbirds, nevertheless, parade
the sky; listless and lazy they
awkwardly hop from limb to limb. 

Their shouts echo irritably
While their watchful and wary eyes
Follow the passers-by and the
Travelers along sun-lit streets.

These birds remember faces from
the past, clearly, as easily as
Elementary arithmetic,
or names, if birds even use names.

Like parallel lines at different
Times in space, pasts and futures shall
not meet. Why should they? These city
Birds who watch with wonder perceive

Real and unknown random spaces
Differently, remembering pasts,
Knowing they are unimportant.
They do not speak in absolutes,

Only brief shouts echoing through
our make-believe day-time to
Placate some specific duty
known only among the murder

or the unkindness. I do not know
these idiosyncrasies so I
leave the whole mess for the blackbirds
to watch and wonder instead.