Birds Poem by Duy Bui

Birds are the artists of the sky,
Crooning a different tune, from
Corners to corners, from roofs
To roofs over New York City’s
Narrow alleys, crowded avenues
And hushed piers of the East and West
River.
They sing so much like a blues musician
With his Saxophone blowing into the sullen
Wind a tune of the night, upon
The sarcastic environment a song
Of courageous love, and into the
Wintry souls a natural prayer.
Sometimes I listen to their echoing
Calls in the pubescent morning,
and caliginous evening, though too often,
I fail to see the perennial beauty they
Paint with their Shadows upon the yellow
Sand, when heavy footprints ambulate and roll.