The bird who dove across
Hwy 34 exit toward downtown
New Haven — the interchange
New to the interstate that
Flies over gravity’s expectations —
The bird who ignited herself
From some hidden nest to climb
In tandem with the cars over
The harbor marsh lands. This bird
Who fixed her sights on some
Distinct treetop in a still
Sweet corner of land someone
Forgot to backhoe under, this
Bird didn’t care for Swedish
Meatballs or which ninety road
Leads north, actually. The bird
Dove, left wing down, across the
Cement chute that tossed me
Into the next rectangle
Hour of my day, and
Disappeared like smoke.
— from the road