Birding in Bombay

Perched on the fringes of my existence
their feathers, a tapestry of their day
adorn my window sill

Wings spread, the gossamer fabric
a map of the places I’ll never see
but whose stories continue

to tear at the sweet spots in my slumber,
the lake is asleep
while I am awake

watching the still water
my reflection as weightless
as the stars above

Like snow on a summer evening,
the egrets land softly on the lone tree
dressing the leaves in flappy white

quiet as the clouds, they disappear into the night
a shadow play against the sky
untethered by the moon light.