In the late afternoon

        The birds, spray-painted on the wall outside,
        make me pine with green as they swoosh,
        fiercely, this way and that way;

        the little one
        flying in front of the big eagles and seagulls,
        up and over, I see him
        barrel roll all-
        over and
        out
        from under glides a drifter--

        cats, dine
        in
        the
        alleyway,

        and I see a girl,
        small
            and
        strong,
        pierce the wind past Atlas Café,

        her
        suitcase, rolling steadily
        past this stanza

        as accents, curl around my red earlobes
        and hang themselves
        like ornaments.