Sparrows

Flock of sparrows takes

charge of the plaza grounds

controlling the ebb and flow of bird

excursions telling everyone

to follow rules obey traffic signals

and certainly stop

at the intersection, look

both directions before fluttering to

the other side toward

pizza joint where there are

always plenty of crumbs

to eat while the young

sparrow sitting on the tree branch

contemplating, internal seeker

of truth composes his daily poem

and clipping his wing feathers he writes

no need for these anymore

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POEM BY ANTONIS FOSTIERIS

BOY AT THE MUSEUM

A boy has slept in the museum

for the last three thousand years

his bones have shuddered in the cold

they got full of holes for the stubbornness of the irrevocable.

A boy gets up from his bed at night

pulls the curtains aside to see the moon

the wild light startles him and he sleepwalks to the roof

just a little more and he’ll climb up to the clouds

just a little more and he’ll clean out God’s beard 

I’m lying, I’m lying a boy sleeps in the museum

eons trickle cold water on him

the eons buzz in his ears like bees

eons of ants around his mattress

just a little longer and he’ll rip the curtain of his sleep

he’ll get up and crying we’ll hug each other   

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