yet three turtles sunbathe on a broken pipe,

others swim lazily over Skittles bags, Pepsi cans,

their checkerboard shells making progress,

their ancient heads lifting to breathe good enough air.

Life goes on here too, says the grey heron,

elegant as an italicized S,

as she spears a small, polluted crustacean.

Her fear sanded down by long living among humans,

she turns her head once, eyes gesturing

I know you.