Tireless robins break you out of the daze, stoking

a fast-paced relay. Front of the house to wide yonder

in back. The mockingbird wheedles a role as Jubilance

Catalyst, stationed outside the bathrooms—

so they agree to leave him to it, swearing to fulfill

what they uphold. They race into this work, identical

insistence fused to those channels in their throat

that just ignore all. On the job. Like they

were yesterday. On now, into dark muck. Polishing

the air inside a critter amphitheater, joining these tall

houses with any morning’s undulating ribbon.

Orchestrating an echo for the bus stop, three blocks

down. First call peels first responders, working

for liminal wage. So take a seat and fit on

a birdsong halo. Glance at your tasks and glance away.