Sparrows

This morning’s sparrows 
		flit among the 
telephone wires like musical notes,
chirping a sweet song of gratitude 
to the rising sun. 
			After they play
a few bars, they scatter like buckshot
through the air.
		They don’t worry
about bills, mortgages, global hegemony, 
vaccines or boosters.
	     All they have
is a twig of the present clipped in their 
beaks, to build their nests 
	in the heart
		of the now…