To Be Singing

There are so many of you. So many
cubicles of life. I cannot know
what you are thinking but I know
all of you are capable of dying.

Once, I saved a homeless man who
fell asleep on Santa Monica Blvd.
He spit on me because he said
I woke him from a lovely dream.

Often now, I understand the birds,
anonymous, nameless flocks who spend
their time hunting worms and spiders
no other joy than singing to be heard.

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