Birdsong

taradam taradam says the bird

on concrete-forest-roofs on house-roof-meadows

where power lines are the leaves

antennas are the branches here they rest

they build nests out of straw instead of twigs

this is our forest we grow trees out of containers

water our bodies of waste with sewage

but this bird comes from somewhere else

its feathers are shiny but not oily

and there is no ring on its finger

in my dream i see the ocean through its eyes