A Starlingby Lynn Levin
I turned to see a bird apace
with my train. Like a wave in space
it crested, troughed. In winter tweed
the starling seemed all business, beak
certain as a compass.
But then it felt my gaze
and feared the human face,
fled and left me birdless in my seat.
I turned to see
fellow riders at their paces
texting, shuffling through briefcases.
All that day I was afraid to meet
other glances on the street.
I fluttered through the public spaces
and would not turn to see.