Everything in nature gives of a fine decorum
Lobes of air coursing under the ice
As passing through a turnstile one by one
In humans not so much
These blackbirds that cross the sun in battalions
Some above the orb some below
All tending roughly northward
Strange direction in winter
But they know what they’re doing
People used to think that such phenomena
Said something important about people
As constellations reflected or even determined
The course of human events
Not a completely crazy idea
Nature being consistent within limits
And always making sense
But humans our technology I guess
We’re strangers in our own home
Watch the people making u-turns
As they try to guess the next move
From the playful voice of the maps
And in this town you must be particularly alert
To Peachtree Road and Peachtree Street
And West Peachtree and Peachtree Battle
And Peachtree Boulevard that until recently
Was Peachtree Industrial Boulevard
And NE and SW
And everywhere styrofoam cups from Chic-Fil-A
And among the weeds those tiny plastic bottles
From the counter at the liquor store
And wearily checking the phone
In the morning and when the sun sets
To give occasion for flights of birds