Not Far From Where I Think I live.

What if it's out there
and I among the world's machines remain
mesmerized by piston throb,
dulled senseless by the quick solution.

Did it glint my eye as I walked by
the brick, black alleyway of soot
waving without fury
green growing in the mortar?

In a morning filled with dreadful sighs
I heard it in the blackbird's tune
recently I think, but can't be sure
then lost among the engine's grip.

Not far from where I think i live
I hear it in my children's laugh
and every sunset's fiery death
In the old man's wrinkled loving hand

far from any diesel cloth
upon the newborn's head