They nest in the building cornices
swept by rain and the city’s store
of dust. They have picked straw
to bed on from wood cases machinery
is packed in, and for the nest itself
splinters off the cases ripped open.
They peck at manure piles of truck horses
in the neighborhood, and at peanut shells
dropped lunchtime. They hop about
among cars swishing by, and fly
from building to building, crowding
the air; and people in summer
or even winter go by, wistful.

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