A frenzy of starlings sweeps through the plaza—
they soar past the bridge and redouble their flight, 
a dervish that whirls past the invisible homeless, 
then finally settles in to roost for the night—
while peregrine falcons watch from two steeples, 
a Catholic and Lutheran ecumenical feast. 
These multitudes flourish and never diminish, 
a marvel akin to the loaves and the fishes, 
as miraculous to some as the wine and the Host. 
But the churches have shut their doors to the plight 
of the homeless who sleep beneath the two bridges, 
and the colony alights with a sound much like laughter 
in the throat of the night where they take up their post. 

Bio: Tim Hawkins