NIGHT HAWK

You know you can't
call for Love
in this city,
it stalks the streets
like a gypsy cab,
while the pavement
feigns hard to preserve
its solitary lines.
Your ears open themselves
to catch any cry,
some flock together,
others seek the heat

of an updraft.
At the end of each avenue
you hear the lyrics
of Love's myriad migrations.
You imagine it
perched in a tall tree,
trapped in branches
until a storm stops.
You realize you
cannot decipher
even a single chirp.
You dim the lights
for the night

and kneel.
Until
one morning,
a flapping
startles you,
alighting
on the sill
of a window
you forgot to close.