Looking Out The Window Through Bare Feet

Ten past six and the stars had taken refuge - I found myself in wait for that black

bird

(the red tail feathered,
red tip beaked one
that met me there
on several occasions
in search of wheat bread crumbs
and sunflower seeds)

to find its way
to rest
upon the ledge outside my window - The

summer

wasn't virgin any more

(the way its sun caressed
and tongued my naked feet made it evident)

and
the sky

was quilted with
what looked

like powdered
orangish-grays in its horizon

like that picture I once saw
in Jack London Square a hundred and

twenty-three months ago -

"Sorry friend,
         but I have
            nothing
               for you today"

It

seemed
to had read my mind,

      and it smiled,

      then

flew off into
the early mornings'

sun -