A lone magpie dances a jig between 

Two outposts of a battered wall.

Her cocked head seems confused to feel,

With each of her little, spritely steps,

 

Skipping past one brick, then to the next,

The sprinkling patter of forming rain, 

Across her head, her back, and wings.

 

Pausing on a scratch of earth,

There fans out around her feet,

Discarded bottles, broken glass,

 

The shattered remnants 

Of half remembered weekend nights – 

A sea of plastic troubles. 

 

She casts one obsidian eye

Alarmed toward the darkening sky.

Yet still determined, pushes on,

Moving swift in simple silence – 

 

Another one for sorrow,

Sheltering from the rain.