falconing in new york city 

after you left
i watched nature documentaries
every single day. it is not true.
you cannot carve a routine 
out of just a door &
a television. on screen
i watched falcons ride 
wind currents between skyscrapes 
in manhattan.
they plucked rats from alleys 
& rooftops. the rats, ragged.
the falcons 
sitting high above 
& sending telegrams 
to god. one falcon says
"some humans are obsessed
shimmer." an empty lot 
is a kind of church, rubble
for rosary. i ate lunch 
on the concrete & felt 
like a real true human there.
stoplights after stoplight
& car after car nudging each other
around corners. the city 
was a a series of tight turns.
below the streets
the rats were discussing
their teeth. they were holding hands
& dancing in circles. in my hand
i clutched a plastic fork
made with dinosaur oil.
this was only last july
i was in a thrall of 
air & metal & i knew nothing
about the falcons or their meals.
what other animals were
above & below? who was i
doing there? hours later
on the long island railroad 
i would rush to find a seat.
hopefully a window seat
to see the city
slip away through a series
of orange tunnel lights.
the falcons see every light
as a jewel to never be touched.
the falcons gather 
on my forehead some nights
& tell me there is a rat
to be caught 
in the basement of my new apartment
away from the city. 
they tell me i am no longer 
human here. all those people
with their fingers 
clutching bars
& arms & bags. so many people
shoulder to shoulder. 
all the sweat
of one afternoon. the falcons
sharing a carcass 
on a rooftop,
taking turns imparting their intel 
with angels. 
i often shut the TV off 
in the middle of a show.
i think to myself, that is enough.
falcons rattled inside the screen.
a man in my heart
takes a loud phonecall through 
a dead tunnel. i do not know 
what exactly it is i miss 
& what it is 
i am without.