Glint

A girl adjusts her backpack at the crosswalk.
She talks with her friend about airplanes
and cars pass while the air
rushes around them.

Her ancestor pulled an arrow
from her shoulder fleeing
her burning village for its neighbor,
the inferno like a second sun
behind her.

The stones crack in the street
while radios at different storefronts
sing conflicting songs in other languages.
Empty plastic bottles line the gutters
like insect skins.

Piles grow lopsided into grotesque shadows
on the graying walls of alleys
or the reflections of window glass.
The thorn tree doesn’t pierce the robins,
they sing among its branches in defiance.

New people will build new cities over this one.
New minerals will form layers over this one.
A new sky will expand outward over this one,
and we will stand there waiting
for the cast out to arrive again.
Beyond revenge, cold nights shine
like silver coins on sleeping eyes.